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MATHILDA OF CANOSSA, 


AKD 

YOLAND OE GEONINGEIT. 


REV. A. MESCIANI, S.J., 

Author of “ The Jew of Verona,” ” Liouello,” eto. 




TBANSLATEO ST Ali'NA T. SASLIEB. 


Wtfal ¥orR: 

D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY ST. 
Montreal: 275 Notre Dame Street, 



. e 


Copyright, 

D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 
1885. 





TRANSLATOE’S PREFACE, 


In this powerfully drawn picture of the manners 
customs, and superstitions of the Middle Ages, the 
illustrious author has also given us a true and accu¬ 
rate account of the great struggle between the Em¬ 
peror Henry IV. and Gregory VII., the great Pope, 
involving, as it did, the most sacred liberties of the 
Church. On the one hand, thrown into strong relief 
by the dark background of Henry’s iniquities, is the 
grand figure of Gregory, an old man, engaged in a 
single-handed contest against the great ones of the 
earth, braving all dangers, enduring all hardships, for 
the glorious cause to which his life was devoted, the 
liberty of the Church, the reformation of abuses, and 
the glory of his Divine Master. On the other hand, 
we find H^nry plunging into a mad vortex of crime 
and excess, and without even the redeeming quality 
of manly fortitude in bearing the reverses which were 
the inevitable result of his career. Aroused by the 
impending loss of his crown, he crosses the Alps, 
appears abject and pitiful before the gates of Canossa 
to implore pardon of the Pope, an object of scornful 
compassion to the courtiers of Mathilda. With 
solemn vows of amendment and restitution upon his 
lips, he goes forth from the presence of Gregory ab- 
8 



4 


Translator s Preface, 


solved indeed in the sight of men, but oh! how black 
before God, to plot a cowardly and treacherous attempt 
on the life and liberty of the generous Pontiff In 
this prolonged contest we are struck by its great simi¬ 
litude with the troubles and dissensions of our own 
day. Germany is once more the theatre of action, 
centuries have rolled between, and on the throne of 
Peter sits, not Gregory, but Pius. The war is not, 
however, against an individual Pope, but a living and 
abiding principle, an unchangeable, ay, and an uncon¬ 
querable foe—the Church of Christ in the person of 
its Vicar ; therefore, though Henry is almost forgotten 
in the silence of ages, though his cause against Gre¬ 
gory has long since been decided at the great tribu¬ 
nal, there is a host of bitter and unscrupulous enemies 
combating once more against God and his Vicar, seek¬ 
ing once more to wrest from the Church her sacred 
liberties. Their name is legion, their strength is 
great, yet in future times shall other pens record and 
other hearts rejoice at the glorious triumph of Pius, 
who will stand, either in his own person, or in that of 
his successor, in calm and unshaken majesty, when his 
persecutors, having exhausted their puny efforts against 
the mighty and eternal rock, and worn out with the 
useless struggle, are sleeping in unhallowed graves or 
mourning a life of wasted endeavors. We can, indeed, 
wait with patience till the end, when the great heart of 
the Catholic world shall be filled with rejoicing and 
the day of tribulation shall have passed away. 

In the life of the great Italian heroine we find por¬ 
trayed the noblest virtues which adorn the Christian 
character. Her undaunted courage, lofty mind, and 


Translator s Preface. 


5 


steadfast faith are equalled only by her gentle ten¬ 
derness and magnanimous forbearance—as where, for 
instance, she solicits from the Pope pardon and abso¬ 
lution for Henry, or when, after her great triumph, 
she bids Ottocar, her deadly and hitherto inveterate 
foe, go forth in freedom to do battle for the Sepulchre 
of Christ. Our later historians unite in deploring the 
darkness of the Middle Ages, fostered by the Church 
of Rome. But where do they find in the history of 
the world one who did more for the advancement of 
literature, art, and science than this Catholic princess, 
this devoted adherent of the See of Rome 1 Yoland of 
Groningen is a gentle and charming creation of the 
author’s mind. We are filled with admiration at her 
truth and courage, her sweet and touching devotion to 
Our Lady, who so visibly protects and consoles her in 
her great trials. Her father, Pandolpji, is but a type 
of the brave and loyal Christian knights who abound¬ 
ed in those so-called ages of barbarism. The Abbot 
Daufer is a fine impersonation of the character, by no 
means uncommon in those days, of an humble and 
saintly monk, who, in time of need, could buckle on 
his armor and do battle for truth and justice. The 
hermit Manfred strikes us as being one of the finest 
and loftiest conceptions in the book. His austere 
and solitary life, his unbounded charity, and great in¬ 
fluence over the neighboring people, powerfully attract 
our interest. The brave and generous but lawless 
and misguided Ottocar excites our sympathy and fixes 
our attention. In Swatiza the Bohemian is found the 
mingling of better instincts with the wild and undis¬ 
ciplined workings of her gipsy nature. These and a 


6 


Translator's Preface. 


host of other secondary characters give full testimony 
to the author’s great creative powers and facility for 
vivid and forcible descriptions, such as we find in the 
gloomy dungeon of the Castle of Brunn, where Ottocai 
and the conjurers stand within the charmed circle, 
surrounded by demons and phantoms of evil. 

In offering this translation to the public, with all its 
defects, the translator claims their charitable indul¬ 
gence. It was to her a labor of love to endeavor to 
reproduce in the English language the author’s noble 
vindication of the austere and saintly although much- 
misrepresented Hildebrand, and his touching tribute 
to the memory of the illustrious Catholic princess, 
Mathilda of Canossa. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 
Gunzone^s Recollections, 

CHAPTER n. 
The Castle of Canossa, . 


CHAPTER III. 
Yoland de Groningen, . 

CHAPTER IV. 
Ottocar de Brunn, .... 

CHAPTER V. 
The Nocturnal Voice, 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Lord Abbot Daufer, 

CHAPTER Vn. 


Snares,. 

CHAPTER VHL 
Troubadours and Magicians, . 


CHAPTER IX. 
Temptation and Violence, 


CHAPTER X 
Gerberge of Drosendorf, 


PAQB 

. 9 

. S2 

• 53 

. 71 

. 88 

. lOS 

. 133 

. 158 

. 179 

. 200 



8 


Contents, 


CHAPTER XI. 

The Hermit’s Cave, . . . . . 

PAGB 

. . 225 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Mystery Unveiled, . . . . . 

. 247 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Ruined Castle, .... 

. 272 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Manfred of Travemund, 

. 300 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Sohtary of the Lake, 

. 329 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Baths of Alhano, .... 

. 357 

CHAPTER XVn. 

Henry IV.,. 

. .382 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Gregory VII.,. 

. 405 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Passage of the Alps, 

. 426 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Tomb of Beatrice, .... 

. 444 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Henry IV. at Canossa, .... 

. 466 

CHAPTER XXn. 

The Metropolis of Modena, . 

. 489 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Conclusion, ...... 







CHAPTER 1 . 
gunzone’s recollections. 

In a vasfc and beautiful plain of the country of 
Reggio which is watered by the rivers Enza and 
Crostelo, under the shade of an ancient and tufted 
elm, sat four of the falconers of the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda. They were waiting till the high and mighty 
lady should come forth from the fortress of Canossa, 
to follow the falcon in the marshes which, at the 
period when this story commences—that is to say, to¬ 
wards the decline of the twelfth century—stretch¬ 
ed over the plains of Lombardy, now so fertile, but 
then covered with forests and swamps caused by 
the overflowing of the rivers. The oldest of these fal¬ 
coners was called Gunzone ; he had been chief fal¬ 
coner to Boniface, the father of Mathilda, and had 
taken as assistant Marculfe, a man of mature age, 
having passed his fortieth year. Vidbode and 
Goldasto, the other two grooms, were strong and 
vigorous young men. Gunzone had sent them, at 
dawn, to the banks of the Enza, to seek for traces 
of the woodcocks, herons, or cranes ; therefore Gol¬ 
dasto had taken his way by St. PauPs ford, and 
Vidbode had gone along higher up towards that of 

Ciano. Both had returned at sunrise, saying that 
9 





lO 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


on the banks of the Enza there were great numbers 
of cranes and lapwings ; that flocks of kingfishers, 
wild geese, and ducks had appeared in the swamp, 
and that the outskirts of the woods were ringing 
with the cries of the pheasant and the red and gray 
partridge, whilst the doves and wood-pigeons were 
building in the foliage. 

That is good said Gunzone. We shall have 
something pleasing to our lady and mistress and 
diverting to the fair Yoland, who so much affects 
the chase. ” 

And gives thee so much drinking-money,” said 
Marculfe ; without counting what comes to thee 
from Madame, thou findest means to secure in the 
sharing a good third more than what we receive.” 

And is not that just ? Was not I falconer to the 
old Count ? Did he not charge me to teach the 
little countess fowling when she was no higher than 
that, and when she was even then, I swear to you, 
as quick and lively as a country lass ? I gave her 
the first lessons with a goshawk so well trained 
that at the least sign he would come on one’s hand 
like a house-sparrow, and so tame that he would 
perch on one's shoulder and caress one like a little 
dog. But his skill was still more admirable. Some¬ 
times from the top of the little hill of Bosena, 
where we used to go, the little countess would let 
him slip, now on the whistling blackbirds, now on 
the jays—a very cunning kind of bird, as thou 
knowest, and very hard to catch ; but the falcon, 
with four strokes of his wings, would seize him at 
once. He would even slyly pounce upon the wood- 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


II 


cock, whose flight is Jerking, uncertain, and irre¬ 
gular ; the hawk would be upon it like a flash, 
and throw him on the ground. He had so much 
spirit and fire that he was not afraid to attack 
the buzzard and the wild hawk ; he would throw 
himself upon them and tear their feathers. It was 
beautiful to watch him making a circle around his 
enemy, and thus rising till he was almost in the 
clouds, then falling perpendicularly, and fastening 
upon him and bringing him to the ground as 
his prey. The old lord, who followed us at some 
distance, would rejoin us, and after having caressed 
his daughter, who had given him such fine sport, 
he would turn to me, saying, ^ Gunzone, thou wilt 
show thyself at the buttery,’ and I never failed to 
be there at the dinner hour. If thou hadst seen 
the platefuls of scraps that Bartaride, the valet, 
would bring me ! There were all the gifts of God. 
There were partridges and woodcocks, whole kids’ 
heads, pork-chops, slices of sucking calf, pieces of 
white bread, and my cup filled with pure wine. I 
would have all that I required from Sunday to 
Thursday for myself and my poor Mattea, whose 
soul may God keep ! ” 

Go to !” cried Vidbode. The Marquis Boniface 
had good falcons no doubt, but that he had as many 
and as strong ones as those of the Lady Mathilda 
I can scarcely believe. Just look on my roosts at 
those ten lanner falcons and those eight mountain- ' 
eers—all rough tillers. Goldasto holds twenty-four 
ten sparrow-hawks, ten speckled goshawks, and 
four pilgrim birds that are worth the ransom of a 


2 


Gunzone s Recolleciio?is. 


king. Thou thyself, Gunzone, earnest on thy wrist 
two couples of rare breed that will attack the eagle 
bet'Ond the clouds. Marculfe has more than twenty 
of all races : goshawks, tiercels, musket-hawks, all 
swift and full of fire. Just tell me, then, has the 
emperor as many and as vigorous, with stronger 
claws, with sharper beak, swifter to pounce upon 
their prey, more fierce in attacking and overcom¬ 
ing it ? ’’ 

I say nothing about the emperor, but I know that 
the Marquis Boniface owned more than any lord 
in the west. Will you believe that his falconries 
and coops covered half a mile of ground ? Listen 
a bit. The great Albert governed, in the name 
of the old lord, the good town of Mantua ; the Mar¬ 
quis sent him to the Emperor Henry II. to offer 
presents to that prince. Albert added to the offer¬ 
ing of his sovereign lord a hundred palfreys of great 
price and two hundred falcons of all races and of 
every kind of plumage, trained for all manner of 
hunting.” 

Powers of heaven ! ” cried the two young men. 

Two hundred falcons for a mere gift! And he no 
doubt kept some for his own use ?” 

^‘To be sure. How, if a simple viscount, a 
vassal and feudatory of the Marquis, could make 
such a present, how much greater must be the fal¬ 
conry of his lord ? We were sixty-five, falconers, 
chief-falconers, hawkers, and grooms of falconry, 
without counting the masters of the coops, who 
cooped a hundred falcons at a time, so that the 
Marquis could at any time go a-hunting. He never 


Giinzone s Recollections. 


13 


went to the chase without letting slip a hundred or 
even two hundred falcons. The grooms of the 
hounds, the huntsmen, were more than a hundred, 
and all of them, as well as ourselves, wore the same 
livery, only that they had a horn in their shoulder- 
belt, and that their hat was ornamented with the 
tail of a hare, a marten, or even a fox, whilst ours 
had a tuft of pheasant or heron feathers. Their 
doublets were of buckskin, spotted with white, the 
hairy side out, and ours, as now, were of the skin of 
chamois deer, with boots of coarse Bulgarian leather, 
to protect us from the damp of the marshes and bogs.” 

‘‘Insuch fashion,” added Goldasto, “that the 
equipage of the chase occupied all the space which 
remained behind the falconry, and extended as far 
back as the left side of the stables.” 

“ Not at all,” replied Gunzone ; “ the stables were 
on the same side as the barns and coach-houses, from 
the pillars of which were hung thousands of shields, 
lances, and swords, polished and shining so that 
they dazzled the eyes. In the stalls there were 
three hundred steeds, coursers, palfreys, Spanish 
horses, and others of spirit and mettle; Besides 
this, in the coach-houses were to be seen caparisons, 
shirts of mail, stars, brocade, velvet of exceeding 
richness; and then came saddles with pommels of 
gold and silver, head-stalls of steel, cruppers with 
golden fringe and tassels . . .” 

“In a word, an outfit worthy of an emperor,” 
said Marculfe. “ I often heard my grandfatlier say 
that King Conrad, speaking of the Marquis, said : 
‘ Boniface, the richest of Christian princes. . . ’ ” 


14 


Gunzo7ie^s Recollections. 


Perhaps thou wouldst tell this to me—I, who 
knew him when, as a little child, I was with my 
father, who was training the falcons of Biannello. 
My father—God rest his soul!—was his falconer 
when the Marquis went to Lotharingia to espouse 
the Lady Beatrice, who was the daughter of Duke 
Prederic and Mathilda of Sweden, who was the 
mother of our mistress, and whom thou didst know 
well, Marculfe.” 

‘‘ She wished me well and was bountiful towards 
me. She was in truth a great lady; . . . there¬ 

fore all the world honored her as a queen.” 

'‘Well, comrades, my father, who formed part of 
the Marquis’ suite when he went into Lotharingia, 
often related the marvels of that journey. Just ima¬ 
gine the horses’ bits of gold, the head-pieces orna¬ 
mented with bullion and pearls, and strewn with pre¬ 
cious stones; all the clasps were of silver, even on 
the ponies, the saddle-bows worked in gold, the sad¬ 
dle-cloths all richly embroidered, and the stirrups 
sometimes of plain gold, sometimes enamelled or 
carved. In a word, to cut it short, I heard tell 
that the Marquis had all his saddle-horses shod in 
silver, forbidding the blacksmiths to fasten the 
nails which kept them on—which were also of silver 
—in such fashion that the horses would lose them 
on the road ; and they were forbidden to pick them 
up, but were to put on new ones. Therefore,” he 
said, “ ye should see the poor people hastening to 
pick them up, and the way they gaped at sight of 
such magnificence.” 

" These were lords indeed. Horseshoes of 


Gtinzone's Recollections. 15 

silver I . , . not fastened ! . . . and which they 
did not deign to pick up I . . 

Ye have not heard all yet. The steed of the 
Marquis was so richly caparisoned that the saddle¬ 
cloth alone was worth a province from the precious 
stones that glittered upon it. It fell over the crup¬ 
per and down to the legs, over the flanks and the 
breast-piece, in scallops studded with diamonds 
and other precious stones. The head-piece was of 
pure gold, ornamented to the very top with rubies 
of inestimable price. Besides, all this magnifi¬ 
cence was not for the Marquis only. . . . The 

barons, esquires, archers, trumpeters, and even 
simple grooms had their part in it. My father’s 
doublet was so loaded with gold and silver that the 
chamois-skin of which it was made could scarcely 
be seen.” 

It was, no doubt,” said Marculfe, that which 
he wore at the nuptials of our lady with Duke 
Godfrey. I was very young then, but I remember 
well. I have never since seen so much pomp at 
the feasts of the Lady Mathilda.” 

Oh ! then,” cried Gunzone, my father—God 
give him rest !—told me that the nuptials of our 
Countess with our Prince, however magnificent, 
could not compare with those of the Lord Boniface, 
her father, with Lady Beatrice. The rejoicings 
were prolonged for three months in his royal villa 
of Marengo, on the banks of the Mincio, not far 
ffrom Mantua. I dare not describe it to ye, for ye 
would treat me as a liar, it was so brilliant and 
maintained so royally. The greatest lords of 


16 Gunzone s Recollections. 

France, Germany, and Italy were there. They 
were astounded at such splendor, and cried out 
with one voice that in all Christendom there was 
not a more magnificent prince than the Marquis.’’ 

Bah ! go to ! for if thou hast it from thy fa¬ 
ther, it must he true ; for he was a worthy man, not 
such as would speak falsely. Marculfe knew him 
well.” 

I will only tell ye what he has related to me a 
hundred times at the fireside in the long winter 
evenings. Thus, he declared that the palace of 
the Marquis was everywhere resplendent with rich 
hangings of silk and purple, and with tapestries, 
and that every room was thus decorated. The 
floors were of foreign marbles; the ceilings, 
painted and gilded, were inlaid with ivory and 
ebony. The furniture was heavily carved and or¬ 
namented with massive gold. The beds were hid¬ 
den by counterpanes and curtains of damask and 
brocade. In the halls set apart for the repasts, 
tables were served at all times; sideboards were ar¬ 
ranged in order, and the dove cots, rabbit-burrows, 
poultry yards, parks, and slaughter-houses abound¬ 
ed in animals of all sorts. But the Marquis did 
not content himself with keeping up great state 
for himself alone. He. received and treated his 
guests nobly according to their rank; he feasted 
them and provided a thousand amusements for 
them. Long tables were often set out under the 
large pavilions of silk, in the midst of the field 
which stretched in front of the castle, beneath the 
shade of tufted elms and plane trees, whose foliage 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


17 


stirred at the breath of the breeze. In the middle 
of the lawn was placed a large fountain, which, in 
place of water, gave forth a rare and generous wine. 
It was drawn up by means of two silver buckets at¬ 
tached to a long chain of the same metal. These 
two buckets went up or down alternately full or 
empty, and their contents were poured into large 
golden goblets and placed on the table before the 
guests.” 

Odsheart I my friends, what good cheer ! ” 
cried Yidbode. Why was I not there ? How 
tenderly I should have caressed those beautiful 
golden vases, if I did not indeed give the prefer¬ 
ence to the two buckets themselves ! I should have 
attached myself to them, and drained them dry 
without any one having need to coax me, as I do 
my horse when I would get him to drink. Ah I 
Gunzone, who can say in what state thy father re¬ 
tired that evening ? . . . That’s what might 

be called drinking like a fish. Wine from a bucket! 
I should be content, though, just now to have it in 
a pitcher. TeU us, Gunzone, what cheer did they 
make 

Cheer such that with the leavings they fed 
the whole country besides when the people of the 
castle were well replenished. And do not suppose 
that the dishes were presented to the guests by 
ordinary valets; no, indeed, they were brought 
from the kitchen on richly-saddled palfreys. To 
the table of the lady of the castle and the other* 
noble ladies they were sent on two snow-white 
nags, covered with scarlet saddle-cloths embroi- 


18 Gunzone s Recollections, 

dered in gold and ornamented with emeralds, 
rubies, and sapphires, having on their heads rich 
heron plumes and tassels of gold and precious 
stones which shone like the stars. To the Marquis’s 
table the viands were brought on magnificent pal¬ 
freys covered with crimson velvet, with gold 
breast-pieces, and the arms of the master carved in 
silver on large shields which adorned the corners 
of the saddle-cloth, the borders of which displayed 
fringes of silk and gold. The nags and palfreys 
were accompanied by two dish-bearers, and fol¬ 
lowed by marshals who held the large silver dishes 
on which were smoking partridges, pheasants, and 
peacocks which were to be carved on the trenchers. 
There came whole roasted boars, bucks, kids, young 
pigs, calves, served with basil, thyme, mint, and 
rosemary, which gave forth a pleasant fragrance. 

. . . God knows all. . . . Then came 

basins of gold, in which were heaped fat geese, 
ducks, turkeys,* laid on vermicelli and macaroni. 
Then came the fish-kettles, loaded with monstrous 
fishes-—sturgeons as large as the shaft of a cart; 
the spits, garnished with game of all sorts ; dishes 
full of pastry of every kind ; high stands which 
could scarcely contain the heaps of rosy apples, 
mellow pears, quinces, Catalonian plums, and 


* The learned author here commits an anachronism, as the 
turkey was only introduced in Europe in the seventeenth cen¬ 
tury. What makes this slight error more amusing is that we 
owe the importation of this magnificent bird to the celebrated 
society of which Father Bresciani is so distinguished a 
member. 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


19 

yellow plums, whose varied colors were exquisitely 
pleasing to the sight.” 

By Bacchus I ” cried Goldasto, that was 
feasting for epicures; and all that lasted three 
months. But where the deuce did the Marquis 
procure all these boars, bucks, kids, and all those 
cart-loads of provisions ? ” 

Bah ! that gave him no trouble,” answered Gun- 
zone. Just imagine that the spices necessary to 
season all these were in such great quantities that 
they could not pound enough with a mortar. They 
had to be ground at the grain-mill. It was a sight 
to see the bushels and sacks of nutmegs, the tons 
of cloves, coriander, pepper, cinnamon, and all the 
ingredients to take away the breath. The good 
lord had the venison and boars from his parks, his 
woods, and swamps ; his falcons brought him the 
feathered game; his hare-hounds the rabbits and 
hares; his pointers the partridges, pheasants, and 
woodcocks. His pastures fattened for him the 
beef, mutton, the kids and calves ; the river Po 
gave up to him its sturgeons ; the ditches of Man¬ 
tua supplied its eels ; the sea-shores of Mesola and 
Spina gave their numberless fishes.” 

“The deuce! . . . The lands of the Mar¬ 

quis extended to the sea ? ” asked Marculfe. 

“ Yes, to be sure. . . . And where has not 

our master lands ? He has as many as a crowned 
king. The Reverend Father Donizone, who dwells 
up there in the Convent of Canossa, and who is so 
learned that he is the wonder of all the monks, said 
one day to the esquire Adewaldo, then one of our 


20 Gunzone s Recollections, 

mistress’s pages, that the Marquis Boniface was so 
rich and powerful a lord that from the rock of 
Canossa, from which can be observed nearly the 
whole of Lombardy, only a third of his possessions 
can be seen. So ye can judge I If we look to the^ 
right, we find Keggio, Modena, Ferrara; and from 
there, going down along the Po, there are Polesine, 
Adria, Comacchio, as far as the Adriatic. Ye 
would see if they did not extend to the sea, and if 
the gold-fish, flounders, mullets, and gurnets were 
not caught within his possessions. If from the 
high tower of Canossa we turn to the left, we 
should discover Parma, Piacenza, Cremona, Man¬ 
tua. It is but little, as ye see. Well, all that is 
nothing beside that which he possesses on the other 
side of the mountain. Beyond the Frignano and 
the Garfagnana he has magnificent lands. Go on 
to Mount Bardona, up as far as Ancisa ; go down 
again towards Macra, and thou wilt find Pontre- 
moli, Carrara, Massa, and the sea again. The sea, 
dost thou understand ? Therefore the Marquis 
was master of two seas, was he not, my masters ? 
While Father Donizone was holding this dis¬ 
course with our noble Adelwaldo I was listening 
with open mouth; but some time after the Lady 
Beatrice sent me to carry six falcons to one of her 
barons of Lucca, and then I saw the sea with my 
own eyes from the height of a little hill near 
Viareggio.” 

Is there fish in that sea ? ” asked Vidbode. 

What a question ! Why, of course there is, and 
good, and in great quantities, and I ate some of it at 


GunzoJie s Recollections. 


21 


Lucca, in the castle of the baron who dwells there 
for the Countess Mathilda. There I saw fish of the 
species called chub-fish, as large as my arm. I 
stayed six months at Lucca to teach the art of 
falconry to the baron’s grooms. They declared 
that a large part of Tuscany is under our mistress’s 
command. I even found there Welfe de Spoleto, 
who declared that she reigns and is ruler in 
Umbria, even to Oamerino, and over many of the 
countries which are called the Marshes.” 

And did all that belong to the Marquis Boni¬ 
face, her father ? ” 

To be sure ; and to this may be added the 
towns, the lands, and the castles which he possessed 
in Lotharingia, and which his wife brought him as 
a dowry. He could therefore very easily entertain 
the train which we spoke of a moment since, and 
treat the lords and gentlemen so well that they 
could say : ^ In truth, Boniface is as magnificent as 
a crowned king.’ Without counting the grand 
presents which he made to his guests—to some, 
caparisoned steeds with velvet coverings and head- 
pieces of silver ; to others, breast-plates of the finest 
steel, wrought in gold; now it would be helmets 
with glittering crests, shields of burnished silver, 
embossed with gold; again, swords with hilts 
adorned with precious stones, with blades of the 
finest temper, all carved, engraved, and enamelled 
—there were presents of falcons of rare breeds ; 
dogs of all kinds—house-dogs, hounds, Danish 
dogs. The Marquis was no less courteous towards 
the ladies. He presented them with crowns of 


22 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


precious stones, bracelets, clasps, ear-rings, clusters 
©f diamonds, pearls, and carved coral, all jewels of 
great price, and wrought with exquisite art in the 
workshops of the goldsmiths of Burgundy, or sent 
from Granada, Murcia, or Saragossa by the most 
skilful Moorish jewellers, who had added marvels of 
their art in filigree, in open work, and in rich en¬ 
amels. Do not suppose, however, that the distribu¬ 
tion of these presents ended the festivities. No, 
indeed; the Marquis had brought thither from all 
countries bands of troubadours, minstrels, and jug¬ 
glers, who by their songs, their tales, their music, 
and their sleight of hand, provided novel amuse¬ 
ments for the noble guests. The lord wished that 
they should also take part in the rejoicings; and ye 
will no doubt shake your head in unbelief if I tell 
ye that more than six hundred doublets of cloth 
were distributed to them on this occasion, with as 
many hoods of cloth of silver and gold, and of vel¬ 
vet, brocade, and of watered silk ; sorcoats of mar¬ 
ten, sable, or ermine fur, with clasps of rubies, to¬ 
pazes, beryls, emeralds, and garnets, which in¬ 
creased the price of each garment to fifty or even 
a hundred gold besants.” 

What fibs, comrade !” cried Goldasto. Why, 
if even the wells that you spoke of were filled with 
besants instead of wine, I swear to thee it would 
scarcely suffice for such prodigality.” 

Thou understandest nothing at all about it, my 
poor Goldasto, and that is why thou wouldst do 
better to be silent, great simpleton that thou art. 
Listen; the Marquis had, besides all this, enough 


Gunzone's Recollections, 


23 


of money to bury us all four underneath it, with 
our falcons, roosts, pikes, and caps. The Emperor 
Henry II., during a campaign in which the Mar¬ 
quis was engaged, was dining under his tent. A 
roast buck was served with a dressing of salad, the 
seasoning of which was of Lucca oil and a certain 
kind of vinegar which, a hundred years before, had 
been placed in his cellars of Modena by Azzo, the 
founder of Oanossa, and an ancestor of the Mar¬ 
quis. The Emperor, after tasting the vinegar, 
which flowed like oil, cried : ^ This is balm. Mar¬ 
quis ; it is not vinegar/ The Marquis said nothing 
at the time, but as soon as he returned to Canossa 
he sent for skilful workmen, and commanded them 
to make a large cask of pure silver. These men 
went to work with such care that the pipe-staves, 
hoops, the head, and even the nails in the hoops, 
and the bung-hole could be distinguished; the 
spout and the stopper alone were masterpieces of 
art. Then he had a cart made, with its racks, its 
bars, its axle-trees, its sides, its wheels, with their 
massive nave and cross-lines, the shafts, the reins 
and harness, all of the same metal. There was silver 
enough, I hope. Well, that is not all. He had made 
two oxen of admirable workmanship; the tails with 
the tufts of hair, the fetlock, the polished and crook¬ 
ed horns, all could be distinguished. . . 

Oh ! that is too much, Gunzone,” cried his 
three companions; that is too strong and too 
hard to digest; the more we listen, the more thou 
wilt tell us. Meanest thou to say that the silver 
oxen walked and drew the cart ? ’’ 


24 


Gunzone $ Recollections. 


No ; not at all/ The silver ones did not walk, 
but they were drawn by two young bulls from the 
neighborhood of Reggio—two beasts as large as ele¬ 
phants almost. The Marquis charged his Viscount 
Albert to escort the cask full of this famous vine¬ 
gar to Piacenza, where the Emperor then was, and 
to present it to him. On seeing such a magnificent 
present the prince was amazed. 

Wonderful! ’ cried he. ^ Why, even if our fal- 
. cons laid eggs of gold and silver, what would that 
be in comparison with the Marquis’s treasures ?’ 

And after all this,” continued Gunzone, at his 
death he still left enough to his wife Beatrice and to 
his daughter Mathilda to make them the richest 
princesses in Christendom, and to permit them 
to set large armies on foot against that detestable 
anti-pope Oadolaus, who would, with the help of 
his schismatic confederates of Lombardy, have 
overthrown the holy Pope Alexander, our Bishop of 
Lucca. These brave women treated him so that 
they left him with no ambition to begin again. 
The Lombards advanced from Pavia, Milan, and 
Brescia, strongly supported by a body of German 
troops. They sought to force the passage, enter in 
safety with their anti-pope up the yast domains 
of Beatrice and Mathilda, then continue thus 
quietly on their road to Rome to dispossess the 
holy Pope Alexander; but when proud of their 
numbers and of their boldness, they proposed to 
pass the river Po, they found on its banks an ob¬ 
stacle which stopped them and cost them dear. 

One day the countess and myself were return- 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


25 


ing from the pass of Varvasone; her falcon had 
seized a tailless hawk, and, as the rogue made a 
show of resistance, the falcon seized him in such a 
way that he could not escape, now giving him a 
blow with his wing, or again with his beak, then 
throwing him up in the air and catching him 
again. He pecked at him so much that the feath¬ 
ers rained down upon us like snow-flakes, until at 
last, tired 6t playing with his ugly prey, the brave 
falcon gave him the final blow, and brought him, 
featherless and still palpitating, to the feet of his 
mistress. Mathilda looked at it with disgust, took 
it by one wing, and, turning it rapidly in the air, 
she cast it on the ground, saying, ^ Ah ! why art 
not thou that infamous Cadolaiis who hast 
the audacity to peck at the divine robe of the 
Church, and who would usurp the chair of Saint 
Peter, where Alexander, the chosen of G-od, sits and 
reigns ? I swear to leave him neither rest nor peace 
till I see him fall, like that miserable bird, into the 
mud, from which he came forth only to be the 
plague of the world.’ So said the heroic child, and 
turning to me her beautiful eyes, in which the fire 
of indignation still glowed, she added, ^Gunzone, 
thou shalt see me to-morrow in another habit than 
that of a huntress ; take care of my falcons ; I hope 
to be able before long to unhood them upon a no¬ 
bler prey than that hideous and disgusting hawk.’ 
Then placing her hand on the shoulder of Prando, 
her groom, she said to him, ‘ Thou wilt give my 
Spanish horse to the care of Eataldo, and thou wilt 
seek me with my Moorish horse saddled; see that 


26 


Gunzone's Recollections, 


he be gi’oomed and bridled to-morrow at the dawn 
of day.’ Prando bowed his head and answered, 
‘ Yonr highness shall be obeyed.’ 

‘^Ye must know that this Moorish horse was 
that which the Countess used for tilting; when we 
would see her prancing on the green, handling the 
spear and brandishing the sword, we could not be¬ 
lieve that it was a young damsel of fifteen years. 
By her form and development, she had more the 
air of a woman of twenty; and amongst all the 
maidens' of her mother the Duchess, who often 
tilted with her, none could equal her in lightness, 
skill, and valor. Her horse obeyed her like a dog; 
she threw the dart, the hatchet, or the steel-pointed 
axe, and handled the lance or the sword like tlie 
first foot-soldier in Germany. While still very 
young, her father, the Marquis, put her in the sad¬ 
dle, and holding the bridle of the horse, let it go 
slowly, but she, in her impatience, seized the bridle 
in her little hands, and chirruped to make the 
horse go faster, trot, or even gallop, whilst her 
father was delighted at seeing her so fearlessly 
changing hands, taking half-steps, backward steps/ 
wheeling about, guiding her horse with her little 
hands, and managing him beautifully.” 

‘‘But,” said Marculfe, “why did she order 
Prando to have her Arab steed in readiness ? Did 
she want to tilt the day after she had been out with 
thee?” 

“ Yes, she did indeed want to tilt, and it was a 
rude tilt to which she was exposing herself, I as¬ 
sure thee—a tilt which was to dismount Cadolatis 


Gunzone s Recollections. 


27 


and tlie flower of Lombard chivalry. I came back 
then to Canossa, and the next day I found the 
whole court in great agitation. The esquires of 
the Duchess Beatrice were bringing from the arsenal 
shields, bucklers, maces, halberds, lances, swords, 
hauberks, breast-plates, helmets, morions, and head- 
pieces of all forms. We were all surprised at these 
preparations, not knowing what was to be the re¬ 
sult. All at once we saw coming down from the 
great tower the banner of the Count, escorted by a 
great number of knights, and going towards the Ca¬ 
thedral of Saint Appollonius. The Duchess Beat¬ 
rice and the young Mathilda had already repaired 
thither ; then the high-constable rested the staff of 
the standard on the ground, and Mathilda respect¬ 
fully placed her steel-gloved hand upon it, waiting 
till the abbot and his monks had come out of the 
church, and blessed it in the name of God, and 
sprinkled it with holy water. That ceremony 
ended, the young Countess, raising the pendant, 
waved it in the air to show it to the crowd, crying : 
^ Long live Saint Peter ! True warriors of Canossa ! 
carry this noble banner to the very fields of Lom¬ 
bardy, and bring it back victorious. Fight va¬ 
liantly in its shadow against the anti-pope Cado- 
laus and his unworthy followers, who dare to take 
up arms against the Church of Christ. From the 
highest heavens Saint Peter will guard and protect 
ye, that your arm may be strong, and that ye may 
defend his chair against the profanations of Anti¬ 
christ. The gates of hell shall not prevail against 
ye, for ye have the glory of being the champions of 


28 Gum one's Recollections. 

the God of armies. If ye die, to ye the martyr’s 
palm ; if ye triumph, to ye the confessor’s crown. 
May the Archangel Saint Michael cover ye with his 
fiery shield ! May Saint Peter obtain remission for 
your sins and their penalty I My mother, Beatrice, 
shall lead ye to victory, and I will fight with ye in 
the front rank.’ At the noble young girl’s fervent 
words, all those present brandished their arms, cry¬ 
ing : ‘ Long live Saint Peter ! Long live Beatrice ! 
Long live Mathilda ! Death to Antichrist!’ 

‘‘We were charmed with our young mistress’s 
enthusiasm; hut what was our surprise when, on 
the following day, just as the troops were in their 
saddles ready to depart, we saw the Duchess, 
mounted on her finest horse—the most beautiful 
steed in her stables—come forth from the palace 
and appear on the grand square of Canossa, and 
behind her Mathilda herself on her Arab courser, 
and armed from head to foot like a real French 
knight. The royal damsel was as bright as the 
sun, so radiant and smiling was she under her coat 
of mail and helmet, the crest of which was of azure 
blue and white. Under her coat-of-arms she wore 
a very fine steel hauberk with gold nails, and on 
her breast a head of Saint Peter with the keys 
crosswise—the whole of burnished gold set high, 
and surrounded with ornaments of foliage of exqui¬ 
site workmanship. Her other pieces of armor were 
small plates of steel engraved in the form of the 
scales of a fish, and embossed in wonderful fashion. 
The belt which fastened her sword was formed of 
twisted threads of gold, falling from the right 


Gtinzone s Recollections, 


29 


shoulder to the left thigh, with so much grace that 
we were never tired of admiring it. The young 
lady advanced after her mother, surrounded hy her 
esquires, and mounted on her favorite horse, which 
seemed proud to carry his beautiful mistress. Ho 
arched his neck, pricked his ears, and pawed the 
ground haughtily, under the cloth of azure-blue 
velvet which covered him. This cloth, studded 
with silver stars, came down to his legs behind, and 
was divided at the breast into four scallops gar¬ 
nished with costly fringe which fell to the knees; » 
the curb and bit were of gold, and the head-piece 
of embossed steel, embellished, besides, with a rich 
plume of azure blue and white, like the crest of 
Mathilda. 

At the arrival of the two princesses, the high- 
constable raised the banner, and after having given 
the joyous war-cry, ^Long live Saint Peter!’ the 
troops set out in good order, and took the road by 
the banks of the Po Eiver, under the command of 
the two noble ladies. The vanguard of Oadolaiis 
awaited them, and the engagement commenced. 
The whole army of the Lombards pressed forward, 
but the knights of Canossa rushed upon them with 
such impetuosity and attacked the enemy’s cavalry 
in front and rear with such firmness that they 
broke their lines and routed them in the first 
charge. Prando, who on that day followed the 
young Countess, told me that she performed prodi¬ 
gies of valor. First her lance broke against the 
breast of a gigantic Lombard, whom she unhorsed; 
then, seizing her sword, she threw herself like a 


30 


Gmizoyie s Recollections. 


young lioness into the very ranks of the enemy, 
cutting and thrusting, splitting helmets and morions 
till her blade broke on the breastplate of a German 
knight. She then threw the piece in his face with 
such violence that he tottered in his saddle, and 
finally fell backwards. At once having recourse to 
the battle-axe, which hung from her wrist by a light 
chain of steel, she began to lay about vigorously on 
helmets and head-pieces, bruising and breaking all 
that came under her hand. 

On beholding such a defeat, the impious Cado- 
laiis ignominiously fled with the flower of his war¬ 
riors, and from that day to this he never dai’ed to 
meddle with the troops of Canossa. That he might 
not be found within range of Mathilda’s sword or 
axe ! I swear to ye he will never again annoy the 
holy Pope Alexander, nor disturb the peace of holy 
Church.” 

Whilst the brave Gunzone was growing warm 
over the recital of the prowess of his mistress in her 
youth, the sound of a horn was heard echoing 
through the woods. The four falconers hastily 
arose, and they saw coming at full gallop one of the 
people of the palace, who told them to hold them¬ 
selves in readiness, for that the noble Countess 
would soon reach the place, accompanied by the 
Marchioness Adelaide de Susa and by all the gen¬ 
tlemen of Italy and France who formed her court. 
Whilst old Gunzone hooded the falcons : 

‘"Tell me, Silimbert,” cried he, addressing the 
new-comer, “does the fair Yolande take part in 
the chase ?” 


Gunzone s Recollections* 


31 


Of course. What does it matter to thee ?” 

It concerns me much, for that damsel slips the 
falcon on the game with such address that I hold . 
her the most adroit huntswoman of the court.” 

He finished abruptly, for they could already hear 
the neighing of the horses echoed from the out¬ 
skirts of the forest. 



CHAPTEE IL 

THE CASTLE OF CAHOSSA. 

That steep and almost perpendicular rocK which 
arises stern and rugged above the valleys of the 
Apennines, somewhat south of the town of Eeggio, 
is the rock of Canossa. On the east a bare and 
arid desert is overhung by frightful precipices 
whose depths the eye of the traveller cannot 
fathom. All is silence, ruin, gloom, and desolation 
in these cheerless regions. The rugged rocks seen 
from the opposite side seem like the funereal tents 
of the army of the dead. There the fresh murmur 
of waters is never heard; the limpid brook is 
silent; flowers and verdure are unknown on its 
banks; the warbling of birds is never echoed there ; 
the song of the shepherd leading his flocks to the 
acorn pastures, nor that of the laborer as he drives 
the harrow over the ploughed field, never breaks 
the solemn silence of that spot, unshaded by the 
tufted evergreen or the green-leaved oak. 

Yet the rock of Canossa attracts the eye of the 
traveller; it seems to tell him that earthly glory is 
frail and transient. In its mute language that 
rock presents to him a grand lesson : Behold from 

my lofty summit the richest, most beautiful, aM 
32 



The Castle of Canossa. 33 

most sumptuous cities of Italy, and learn that I 
was once the cradle of nobility, of grandeur, and 
of knowledge. This was the birth-place of Italian 
civilization ; from here the world received its gentle 
manners, refinement, the fine arts, the language 
purified and harmonious, and elegant usages. 
Here it was that Italian valor was made manifest; 
here broke forth the anger of the Lombards and 
the fury of the Germans.’’ 

The Castle of Canossa was built on this vast rock, 
in the year 900, by Azzo of Tuscany, who here gave 
an asylum to the Empress Adelaide, who escaped 
from the tower of La Garde, where Berenger had 
kept her prisoner. That prince laid siege to its 
walls, which resisted him for three years and a half; 
for the castle was so well defended that he could 
never become master of it. Berenger, who had 
dared to give battle to Otho the Great, was after¬ 
wards made prisoner in his turn. Albert, his son, 
who succeeded him on the throne of Lombardy, 
also thought to possess himself of Canossa, but 
after a siege of ten years and three months he was 
forced to depart not only from this rich prey, but 
from his states and even from Italy, vanquished by 
the German army and by Duke Azzo.* 

In those barbarous times, which, above all others, 
might justly be named the age of iron, civiliza¬ 
tion, letters, and the arts were unknown; for 
strength alone took the place of right, fierceness 
replaced clemency, rudeness courtesy; instead of 


♦ Donizone, c. ii. 


34 The Castle of Canossa, 

generosity and Christian meekness there were only 
hatred, treason, and revenge. 

From the height of the rock of Canossa went forth 
the first rays of that civilization which afterwards 
shone throughout Italy. From his Alpine eyrie, 
which he had transformed into a brilliant court, 
Duke Azzo saw stretched at his feet the provinces 
of Lombardy and .Venice, which brutality and bar¬ 
barity still kept enveloped in their thick shadows. 
Towns flew at each other like so many wild beasts ; 
they fell beneath the sword or the torch, or became 
the den of petty tyrants, who, from the summit of 
every mountain, in the depth of every valley, at 
the mouth of every river, on the slope of every hill, 
at the point of every rock, threw up fortresses, 
whence they made war on their neighbors or 
pillaged travellers. 

What we have said of Lombardy and Venetia 
might be said with still more justice of Lower Italy, 
where the heat of the climate, contagious diseases, 
the violent temperaments, the heat of the blood, 
the wild regions of the Apennines, the fierceness of 
the wars, burnings, massacres, and sacking of the 
towns—more atrocious here than elsew^here—all 
rendered the inhabitants fiercer and wilder, being 
themselves victims of the fury of the Vandals, 
Goths, Lombards, and Saracens. Rome itself was 
but a mass of ruins, and its suburbs pre¬ 
sented to the view only a desert covered with 
brambles, heather, and swamps; the doors were 
thrown open, the theatres partly destroyed, the 
monuments dilapidated, palaces devastated, temples 


The Castle of Canossa, 


35 


abandoned, soiled, and stripped of their ornaments ; 
the population, which had once exceeded four mil¬ 
lions of souls in the time of the Roman Empire, 
was now so reduced as to be insufficient to fill a 
small market town. Besides this, the poor people 
were reduced to such scarcity of houses, thanks to 
civil war and sedition, that they fought for a shel¬ 
ter under the arches of the amphitheatres, under 
the domes of the curias and public monuments, in 
the ruins of peristyles and porticos, where they 
sought a lodging li ke the owl and the eagle. Tombs, 
mausoleums, and imperial palaces had been trans¬ 
formed into fortresses and bastiles, where bloody 
combats were carried on ; these ruins became, in 
tlieir turn, the scene of sieges, of assaults, of burn¬ 
ings ; the popes were assassinated, the consuls were 
strangled, the patricians beheaded. Now they 
would have a Lombard prince for their tyrant, 
again, a Tuscan marquis or a count of Tusculum ; 
and the Roman people, always at once cowardly 
and courageous, avaricious and generous, rebellious 
and submissive, fierce and magnanimous, must 
always have masters whom they obeyed, tyrants 
who made them tremble, popes whom they adored, 
whom they banished, and recalled with tears of 
repentance, and whom they revenged by murdering 
or exterminating those who had banished, afflicted, 
or humbled them. Such was the Rome of the 
tenth century ; let the reader judge what it must 
have been! 

To these misfortunes, occasioned by the gross 
manners, discord, and continual combats between 


36 The Castle of Canossa. 

city and city, castle and castle, we must add the 
total absence of commerce, which brings together 
neighboring peojdes, and even those who are at a 
distance from each other ; and thus the roads and 
means of communication became almost impassa¬ 
ble, the rivers without bridges, the fields unculti¬ 
vated by reason of the inundations and stagnant 
waters with which they were covered for want of 
canals and means of draining. Nor was this all; 
there being no harvests, the result was famine, 
want, and epidemics ; the men, reduced to the last 
extremity, came to feed on acorns like unclean ani¬ 
mals, to regale themselves on wild fruits, on game 
or fish which were taken in the weirs, in the pools, 
or in the ditches. To crown all these evils, the feu¬ 
dal lords overpowered the inhabitants of the coun¬ 
tries which they ruled with taxes and imposts. 
They obliged them to supply their tables with the 
products which these unfortunate people procured 
by hunting or fishing. They forced them to carry 
burdens, to bear messages to distant countries, to 
furnish them with troops for war, to build the towers 
and walls of their feudal dwellings, reducing them 
at length to the offices of beasts of burden, and pre¬ 
vailing as much over their persons as they did over 
their goods by their exorbitant imposts. 

It was indeed impossible that the fine arts should 
be cultivated in such a wild and savage state 
of life. Therefore sculpture, painting, designing in 
gold, weaving stuffs,building and working in metals, 
and statuary, were all unheeded. Everything was 
of coarse, rude workmanship ; the usages of polite 


The Castle of Canossa. 


17 


and polished society were unknown; virtue, gener¬ 
osity, justice, consisted in a solid helmet, a proven 
shield, a keen-edged sword, a ponderous battle-axe, 
a strong lance, sinewy arm, broad shoulders, a full 
and expansive chest. As for science and letters, 
they were so much despised that lords, princes, and 
kings boasted of knowing neither how to read nor 
write. Therefore, to sign their letters, their laws, 
and ordinances, they made use of a seal on which 
their name was engraved; they blackened this 
strange instrument with ink or with smoke, and 
impressed it at the bottom of their decrees. The 
cathedrals and curias, however, had notaries who 
were employed to draw up private as well as pub¬ 
lic documents; but they made use of such barbar¬ 
ous Latin and so full of solecisms that it is impossi¬ 
ble to read them now without laughing. 

The secular clergy also shared to some extent in 
the general ignorance. The greater number of 
priests could scarcely read their Office and Mass 
books; they were regarded as fountains of learning 
when, by chance, they could sign their name. To 
receive holy orders, it sufficed to know by heart 
the creed of Saint Athanasius. All their theo¬ 
logical studies were included in this. The light 
of human and divine science and letters only 
shone in the cloisters of Saint Benedict, whence 
were drawn the popes, bishops, and prelates 
of the holy Church. Yet more, let us say in pass¬ 
ing, if monasticism had not kept alive the heavenly 
spark of the torch of science, the present century 
would perhaps have been grosser and more ignorant 


38 The Castle of Canossa, 

than that of which we speak. Besides, in those 
barbarous times faith was strong; no heresy 
troubled the Christianity of the West, but the same 
religious belief was maintained with submission 
and respect; the end of the world was expected in 
the year 1000, when heaven and earth would 
return to nothing and Jesus Christ appear in the 
clouds to judge the living and the dead. There¬ 
fore, enshrouded in the darkness of such gross 
ignorance, men gave themselves up entirely to in¬ 
dolence and discouragement. They troubled them¬ 
selves about nothing; took no pains to alleviate 
their misery, to cultivate the earth, to direct the 
course of rivers, to dry up swamps, and to repair 
churches and dwellings. 

When we think of that unhappy epoch, we think 
ourselves the sport of a dream. It will be told 
that the physical was like the intellectual world, 
and that nature was plunged in material darkness. 
It would seem that the sun did not shine as it does 
in our days, that the moon veiled its silver disc, 
and the stars did not shine in the vault of heaven ; 
the waters of the rivers became black, that of the 
lakes as red as blood, the sea troubled and muddy; 
the grass had a taint of mildew, and the fruits and 
flowers a sombre and sickly color. Thus does man 
reason when he is abandoned to his own imagina¬ 
tion ; he quickly associates the interior light of the 
mind with the exterior light of day. Therefore it 
is that, when he represents the darkness of the 
Middle Ages, he forces himself to believe that the 
exterior world was also in darkness; whilst in our 


The Castle of Canossa. 


39 


days, which he regards as the epoch so brilliantly 
illuminated by the torch of science and the arts, he 
is ready to declare that the sun which lights it is 
warmer and more dazzling than that of the tenth 
century. What an error this is ! We think, on 
the contrary, that if ignorance prevailed in the 
ages of barbarism—and we admit this—nature at 
least enjoyed all its rights. It is in our days that 
we see false science prevail—an error a thousand 
times more dangerous than ignorance ; it is in our 
days that art takes the place of nature, art corrupts 
all simplicity, art which withers and blights all 
that it touches. To find once more that sacred 
nature it must be sought pure and virgin in those 
stern ages ; for in ours it flies before that artificial 
society which has the sad faculty of corrupting all 
natural, civil, and domestic laws—society the more 
corroded by the poison of unbelief as the igno¬ 
rance which enshrouds it is deeper and more 
shameful. But we must not allow ourselves to be 
led into treating of a subject which would furnish 
matter for volumes. We too hate the darkness, we 
too love the light; only we want it true and pure, 
such as it really is—that is to say, guiding the intel¬ 
ligence towards the truth, the heart towards good, 
and the entire man towards peace and happiness. 

However, to refresh ourselves a little after the 
spectacle which the tenth century offers to us, 
let us return to Canossa—to Canossa, whence shone 
the first sparks of that civilization which was to 
save unhappy Italy and render it for eyer illustrious. 


40 The Castle of Canossa. 

Duke Azzo loved to draw to his castle the flower of 
the nobility of those times ; the most beautiful 
ornament of his court was the gentle Hildegarde, 
his wife—a princess endowed with all graces and 
virtues, a woman of a cultivated mind, pious soul, 
and sound and acurate judgment.* It was through 
the advice of Hildegarde that Azzo erected on the 
banks of the Po the famous monastery of Bressello, 
which he enriched with so many revenues. He 
wished that the religious should teach the country- 
people how to build sound and commodious dwell¬ 
ings, to cultivate the earth, to dry up swamps, to 
erect dams at the turn of the rivers which threaten¬ 
ed, at the spring tide, to submerge the hamlets and 
fields for a considerable space. Hildegarde and 
Azzo had two sons. The first, named Tedaldo, 
succeeded his father; the second became Bishop of 
Brescia under the name of Godfrey, which he had 
rendered illustrious. Alone amongst all the 
Italian princes of his time, Tedaldo, by his 
courage and prudence, was enabled to increase con¬ 
siderably the inheritance which his father had left 
him. He made himself loved and esteemed by the 
monarchs of France and Germany, and his zeal for 
the Holy See was so great that the popes gave him 
the fief of Ferrara. To such generosity and valor 
the Prince added such piety that he founded, be- 
ween the Po and Sirone, the celebrated Abbey of 
Saint Benedict, which gave birth to so manv holy 
and learned persons. In consequence thereof the 


* Donizone, iii. 


The Castle of Canossa. 


41 


noble Mathilda conceived so great an affection for 
this venerable place that she chose the church to be 
her burial-place. Her mortal remains rested there 
for five centuries, until Pope Urban VIII. had 
them transported with great pomp to the Vatican, 
where they are laid amid the ashes of the sovereign 
pontiffs, near the altar of Saint Peter. And it was 
but just; for she had always shown herself a sub¬ 
missive daughter of the Holy See and its courageous 
protectress, besides being its most munificent bene¬ 
factress, donating to it all the patrimony of which 
she was mistress. She owed to her ancestor Te- 
daldo the deep affection which she bore to the 
tiara, and from which she never departed. 

Tedaldo had for wife the gracious Guillia ; his 
sons, three illustrious princes, were Tedaldo, Boni¬ 
face, and Conrad. The latter—after having per¬ 
formed prodigies of valor against the haughty 
barons of Lombardy united in the battle of Oo- 
violo, near Keggio—although a conqueror, was 
taken into the latter town, where he died from 
the effects of a wound which he had received in 
the battle. His two brothers bitterly mourned 
him. Tedaldo consecrated himself to the service 
of God, and distinguished himself by his pastoral 
virtues, and particularly by the heavenly purity 
with which he embellished his soul and body. 
After he had become Bishop of Arezzo, he fell 
dangerously ill and his life was despaired of. How¬ 
ever, the young bishop soon recovered. His con¬ 
valescence was hastened by the gentle infiuence of 
music ; he was indebted for this to one of his dear- 


42 The Castle of Canossa. 

est friends, Guido,* restorer of the true church 
music by the discovery which is owing to him of 
the keys, the tones, and one note. It was from the 
lessons and examples of Hildegarde, his grand¬ 
mother, and Guillia, his mother, both women of 
lofty piety and elevated mind, that Tedaldo, born 
at the Castle of Canossa, had drawn the principles 
of virtue, of generosity, and courtesy which he so 
largely propagated in the heart of Tuscany. His 
example had also a strong influence on the already 
noble soul of the Countess Mathilda, his niece, 
who, amongst all the princesses of her time, was 
famous for her uprightness of heart and the lofty 
magnanimity of her sentiments. But Canossa, 
where Boniface was bom of the brave and beauti¬ 
ful Guillia, was never more brilliant and magni¬ 
ficent than in the time of that noble and generous 
Prince, the first and most powerful of the Italian 
dukes. He embellished his castle, adorned it 
sumptuously, and made it the strongest fortress of 
his domains. And whilst Mantua was nothing 
more than a large village enclosed between its lake 
and the river Po, without walls, roads, or towers, 
having no other defence than a ditch and a miser¬ 
able paling,f the superb Canossa became a metro¬ 
polis, and the dwelling of Boniface and his court, 

* Guido d’Arezzo, a religious of the Abbey of Pomposa, 
found the si, the seventh note of the gamut. There is still to 
be seen at Arezzo, his native town, the site of his dwelling ; a 
gigantic staff of music, decorated with a keynote and an 
enormous si, marks the spot where stood the cell of this cele¬ 
brated musician. 

+ Donizone, xvi. 


The Castle of Canossa. 


43 


every day increasing, and from the height of its 
rocks looking disdainfully ou bhe vast plains of 
Italy stretched at her feet, and the noblest cities of 
that ancient land bowing before her, from Bologna 
to Verona, and from Piacenza to Ferrara. The 
whole of Tuscany, a part of Liguria, Umbria, 
the country of Piceno, paid homage to him, and 
his powerful sway extended to the gorges of the 
mountain of Oiminia, and even to Viterbo. Be¬ 
fore and after the death of Tedaldo, proud barons, 
haughty and powerful lords, had sworn faith and 
fidelity*to Boniface ; kings, and even emperors, had 
sought his alliance and treated with him as equal 
with equal; nevertheless this prince, an example 
of moderation, would never take any other title 
than that of marquis—the title which is preserved 
to-day in Verona among the illustrious family of 
Canossa, which seems to have truly inherited, with 
the nobility of its ancestors, their lofty piety and 
their courtesy. Just as the illustrious Boniface re¬ 
ceived in his castle kings and emperors, so the pre¬ 
sent Marquis Boniface of Canossa has received in 
his admirable palace of Verona the most powerful 
monarchs of Europe. 

This palace, the masterpiece of the most skilful 
architect of the sixteenth century, of Sammichelli, is 
just on the banks of the Adige, which runs deep 
and rapid at its feet; the arched buttresses of its 
delightful terraces, from which there is a view of 
the windings of the river, of the verdant fields, 
the flowering gardens which surround and perfume 
the smiling villas of the hills of Saint Leonard; 


44 


The Castle of Canossa, 


then, in the far-off distance, the bluish summits of 
the lofty Alps mingle with the azure of the 
heavens; spacious halls, gilded panelling, costly 
pictures, endless galleries, make the traveller be¬ 
lieve that he is in a royal dwelling rather than that 
of a private individual. The three greatest em¬ 
perors of our century stopped there : the con¬ 
quering Napoleon, Francis 1. of Austria, and the 
Czar Alexander II., autocrat of all the Eussias. 
The latter had such an affection for this delightful 
spot that he would often interrupt his repast, com¬ 
menced in the interior of the palace, to go and 
finish it in one of the terraces. He would remain 
standing, his plate in his hand, and, whilst eating, 
would satiate his eyes with the magnificent views, 
so gracious and so varied, which are presented from 
the height of this belvedere. Eeceived with such 
courtesy and magnificence, the three emperors re¬ 
tained a most affectionate remembrance of the Mar¬ 
quis Boniface ; again, in our own days, the young 
sovereign of Austria honored the old age of the 
venerable gentleman, one of the noblest represen¬ 
tatives of the old Italian nobility.* 

To return to the generous Boniface, son of Te- 
daldo I., he found in his father’s chamber twelve 
buckskin sacks filled with gold. This treasure 

* other reliable authors declare that the present family of 
the Marquis of Canossa are lineally descended from the 
powerful Azzo, the father of Tedaldo, grandfather of Boni¬ 
face, and great-grandfather of the Countess Mathilda. This 
family still possesses great estates in the Mantuan country 
and in the territory of Verona. The tall, black horses which 
are brought from these countries are much prized. 


The Castle of Canossa. 45 

was employed in embellishing and fortifying the 
palace of Canossa, in hospitality to princes who 
came thither to visit him, in enlarging the castles, 
parks, arsenals, falconries, villas, which he possessed 
in the neighborhood. He at once fortified and 
adorned the impregnable fortresses of Bianello, Ros- 
sena, and of Nogara, which overlooks Verona, and 
of Sorbara, which protects Modena. He was un¬ 
surpassed in liberality, and none knew better than 
he how to protect the arts in those rude times 
and give patronage to learned men, whom he at¬ 
tracted, at great cost, to his court, and to communi¬ 
cate their knowledge and enlightenment to his 
daughter, the young Mathilda*, whose mother was 
Beatrice of France, the heiress of Frederic, Duke 
of Lotharingia, and grand-niece of the King Hugh 
Capet. 

But Boniface was distinguished amongst all the 
princes of Christendom not only for his loyalty and 
magnificence, he was also admired for his courage 
and valor, unequalled in Italy. He was a head 
above the tallest warriors of the time, and left 
them also far behind him in strength and daring in 
the combat.* He proved it in the assault which 
was made on the city of Parma, December 25, 1037, 
by the Emperor Conrad. That Prince, having been 
repulsed in a sortie which the rebellious Parmesans 
had made against him, called the renowned Marquis 
to his aid. Boniface advanced at the head of his 
troops, gave battle to the rebels, routed them by 


* Donizone, vii. 


46 The Castle of Canossa. 

prodigies of valor, and pursued tliem so closely that 
lie entered with the fugitives, he the conqueror, into 
the town, and subdued it once more to the power 
^ of Conrad. 

His exploits in Burgundy were no less brilliant: 
it was in an attempt to subdue the town of Morat 
to subjection to the same prince. Conrad had es¬ 
tablished his army before the walls of this impreg¬ 
nable place; several assaults were made, but in 
vain, for the Burgundians defended themselves 
vigorously. The Emperor was so enraged at the 
futility of his efforts that he would rather have 
fallen in the combat than see his rebel subjects hold 
out against him with such boldness. Therefore, 
having abandoned all hope of overcoming them, 
he sent to beg Boniface to come to his assistance 
at the head of his Lombards ; and he hastened 
thither. However, he would not enter the impe¬ 
rial camp with his troops ; he held them apart and 
said to the Emperor : Sire, if thou wouldst that 
I succeed, depart from here with thy soldiers, and 
retire beyond the river Sorino. I pledge myself to 
reduce the town with my people.’’ Conrad ac¬ 
knowledged the truth of his words, and withdrew. 

Then the Marquis divided and disposed his troops 
in battalions, and animated them for the combat. 
At sight of the Emperor raising his camp and de¬ 
parting from their walls, the Burgundians, intoxi¬ 
cated with joy, came out on the ramparts to forage ; 
but perceiving the Marquis of Canossa and his Lom¬ 
bards, they flattered themselves that they could sur¬ 
round them and take possession of the spoils. They 


The Castle of Canossa. 


47 


immediately began the action in great disorder, 
Boniface, hastening still more the combat, at once 
had the trumpets sounded, and his whole camp 
was under arms in a moment. He attacked the 
Burgundians at the head and flank at the same time 
and with such impetuosity that they could not re¬ 
sist the shock, but were routed at once. The terri¬ 
ble knight fought unremittingly; he broke helmets, 
pierced breastplates, split shields, and overthrew 
knights. In the fearful shock of the two armies, 
the Burgundians, trampled under the horses’ feet, 
pierced with darts and arrows, pursued at the point 
of the sword and lance, yielded to fear and took 
to flight, seeking shelter within their walls. Boni¬ 
face followed their footsteps, forced his way with 
them into the city, of which he took possession, 
and gave it up to his soldiers, after having caused 
the standard of Camera to be hoisted over all the 
towers. He then sent the keys of the gates to Con¬ 
rad, who re-entered Morat in triumph, whilst the 
Marquis quietly returned to Italy and to the bosom 
of his dear Canossa, where he lived many long years 
as the richest, the most powerful prince of the West, 
held in great esteem even by the sovereigns. 

After the death of Boniface, Beatrice, his wife, 
a woman of elevated genius and great prudence, 
governed the states with her daughter Mathilda, 
and brought them to such a high degi’ee of pros¬ 
perity that she was enabled to sustain long and 
bloody wars against Henry IV., Emperor of Ger¬ 
many, who had dared to attack Pope Alexander 
II. and raise up against him the anti-pope Cadolaiis. 


48 The Castle of Canossa. 

Beatrice herself took command of her armies, fol¬ 
lowed everywhere by her daughter Mathilda, who, 
fully armed and mounted on a fiery steed, did not 
fear to attack the Lombard barons, the upholders 
of the anti-pope, often vanquished them, and, to 
their confusion, forced them to ask mercy under 
her sword or battle-axe. But when peace had 
brought back the two princesses to their castle of 
Canossa, which favored spot shone with renewed 
lustre, from all the countries of Europe came 
princes and gentlemen whose importance increased 
the splendor of that brilliant court, whilst the flower 
of the prelates of the Holy Church adorned it still 
more with their piety and the wisdom of their coun¬ 
sels. Meanwhile, after haviug accomplished her 
illustrious designs, the Duchess Beatrice died at 
Pisa, and was buried with great pomp, leaving to 
Mathilda, with her vast domains, a treasure still 
more precious—that of her virtues, her piety, and 
her devotion to the Church ; of her filial attachment 
to the Sovereign Pontifi, the Vicar of Christ; and 
of that unbounded love of justice which afterwards 
made that princess the most celebrated woman 
whom Italy honors. 

The digression which we have made is not use¬ 
less. It presents a short picture of the barbarism, 
ignorance, and grossness which prevailed during the 
centuries which preceded the birth of Mathilda. 
We have seen how the first germs of Italian civili¬ 
zation manifested themselves in the house of 
Canossa under the government of Azzo. These 
germs produced some flowers under Tedaldo, and 


49 


The Castle of Canossa. 

Boniface had the glory of multiplying them. The 
wise government of Beatrice brought forth some 
fruits, and Mathilda might at length boast of 
having brought to their maturity the harvest of 
elevated intelligence and unparalleled genius which 
made Italy, in the thirteenth century, the first 
among nations in wisdom, valor, and civilization. 

At Canossa broke the dawn of Italian courtesy, 
which, like another sun, was to disperse the dark- * 
ness of Western barbarity and illumine Europe with 
that light with which in our own days it is still 
radiant. It may be justly said that Canossa was, 
for the year 1000, the favored cradle of politeness 
and good manners, a shelter for virtuous men per¬ 
secuted by the tyrants of Italy, the munificent 
refuge of the fine arts as they began to come forth 
from their former rudeness, the school where princes 
name, under the eye of Mathilda and her court, 
to form themselves to the noble usages of chivalry, 
to fervent piety, to the exercise of virtue, to serious 
studies, to polite customs, to all that makes the 
charm of life, to ease of manner, to politeness, 
to benevolence—in a word, to all that adorns 
and enlarges the spirit and the heart by raising 
them up to the most noble and holy enterprises. 
In fact, the court of Mathilda was the mirror of all 
the virtues, the seat of the most heroic piety, of 
the firmness of Christian constancy in venerating 
and defending the despoiled Church, humiliated, 
oppressed by the most cruel persecutions that had 
ever risen against her. 

At the time when our story opens the holy Pope 


50 


The Castle of Canossa. 


Gregory VIL had just left Eome to cross Lom¬ 
bardy and the Alps and go to Augsburg, where 
the Diet of German princes was to assemble at 
Candlemas. They were convoked in order to dis¬ 
cuss, in presence of his Holiness and of all Germany, 
in the person of its representatives, the cause of the 
Emperor Henry lY., a rebel to the Church and a 
tyrant to his subjects. When the Italian nobility 
* learned that the Pope had begun his journey, they 
were filled with emulation, and its principal mem¬ 
bers invited the Pope to deign to rest in those of 
their castles which came on his way, and to take up 
his lodging therein. The Countess Mathilda again 
signalized herself amongst all others on this occa¬ 
sion. She sent some of her feudal barons to meet 
and to salute the Holy Father in her name as soon as 
he had entered Tuscany. He found at the fron¬ 
tiers a body of knights who were appointed, on 
the part of their sovereign, to serve him as an 
escort of honor, or, at need, of defence, to the walls 
of Canossa. 

As soon as they had learned the Pope’s design 
of sojourning with the Countess, in spite of the 
severity of the season, the snow which obstructed 
the mountain-gorges, the roads broken and covered 
with ice, the greatest lords of Burgundy, of France, 
and Italy were seen hastening to Canossa to kiss 
the Pope’s feet and receive his benediction.* 
In their ranks were numbered Azzo d’Este, Mar¬ 
quis of Ferrara, Hugh, Abbot of Cluny, and Ade- 


Donizone, L, ii. 


The Castle of Canossa. 


51 


laide of Susa, accompanied by the Count Am4dee 
de Maurienne, her son.* The Marcliionness of Susa 
added much by her presence to the brilliancy of 
the court of Canossa. She was one of the most 
illustrious princesses of Italy; and it was to the 
immense inheritance of her domains, which she 
brought to the house of Savoy, that that family 
owed the preponderance which they already began 
to enjoy on this side of the Alps. Mathilda hasten¬ 
ed to receive this noble visitor, as also the many 
gentlemen who came to her court to admire the 
mind and the sense of these two remarkable women, 
the pride of Italy. The splendor of this assembly 
was so great that it equalled the pomp of the rich¬ 
est monarchs of Christendom, and far surpassed 
them in all that regards elevation of mind, elegance 
of manners, delicacy of speech, artistic and even 
scientific discoveries ; while over the rest of Europe, 
and especially beyond the mountains, still lay the 
darkness of semi-barbarism. Amongst the amuse¬ 
ments offered to the noble guests, that of hunting 
with the falcon was the most enjoyed. The noblest 
ladies themselves took part in it; they might be 
seen, mounted on swift coursers, flying along the 
banks of lakes, streams, and rivers which were the 
places most frequented by cranes, wild geese, 
herons, and other water-fowl. On that day the 
banks of the Enza furnished an abundant 
chase. The four falconers, G-unzone, Marculfe, 
Yidbode, and Goldasto, were loaded with praise 
from the Countess Mathilda, the Marchioness de 
+ Muratori, Notes on Donizone. 


52 


The Castle of Canossa. 


Susa, and many of the lords. All had been success¬ 
ful that day, and, coming to lay at the feet of the 
two princesses the fruits of their skill, each one re¬ 
lated the exploits of his falcons, their ways of at¬ 
tacking their prey, the latter’s stratagems to escape, 
and the triumph of the noble bird. Amongst all, 
the most fortunate and most skilful, the one who 
bore off the honors of the day, was the beautiful and 
modest Yoland. Everywhere accompanied by old 
Gunzone, she let go her hawk with such directness 
that he never failed to bring back some game to 
the neck of the white Spanish pony which she rode. 
Hence she brought that day to the Countess two 
herons, three plovers, one wild goose, one eagle, one 
crane, and five young ducks. Everybody admired 
the skill of the young girl, and proclaimed her the 
most skilful huntress of the day. Meanwhile, 
the young lords were asking each other who was 
that timid and charming young person. A young 
German prince made himself remarkable amongst all 
others by the unequivocal expressions of admiration 
which escaped him at the sight of all her exploits. 

Yoland wore a riding-dress of amaranth velvet 
with gold stripes, closed at the waist with pearl 
buttons; she wore a hat of colored satin worked 
with silver, surmounted by a long white feather, 
which fell waving to her shoulder. On returning 
from the chase she followed the Countess Mathil¬ 
da ; at her left rode the Marquis de Ceva, at her 
right the young German of whom we have spoken, 
and who scarcely dared address a word to her, so 
absorbed was he in admiration of her. 



CHAPTER III. 

YOLAND DE GRONIKGEK. 

On St. Lucy’s night in December, the Countess, 
after having, according to the custom of the time, 
made rich and numerous presents to both the 
knights of her own court and the foreign lords and 
gentlemen who had come thither from France, Bur¬ 
gundy, England, Lombardy, and Tuscany, on the 
occasion of the expected arrival of the Pope, had 
left them in the great hall of the castle, seeking to 
pass the long winter evening by games and pleasant 
discourse. At the same time, and in that part of 
the castle which looked out upon the inner courts, 
the ladies of the two princesses were assembled, and 
were also spending the evening in dance and song, 
enlivened by the sound of instruments and cheer¬ 
ful conversation. Mathilda and Adelaide de Susa, 
in another apartment, were discussing the deplora¬ 
ble condition in which the Emperor had placed 
himself by his perfidy towards the Cliurch and his 
cruelty towards the Saxons and the other provinces 
of the empire, which he had pitilessly oppressed. 
In consequence of this the electors and the German 
princes, assembled at Oppenheim, had signified to 
Henry IV. that if, at the end of a year, he had not 



54 


Yoland de Gronhigen. 


made his submission to the Church of God and 
sworn to govern Germany with justice and humani¬ 
ty, they would depose him and choose another em¬ 
peror. Meantime, they had entreated the Pope to 
come to Augsburg, about Candlemas, to hear in 
person the just complaints of an oppressed nation, 
and, in his high wisdom, to pronounce a sentence 
which should be without appeal. 

Whilst the two princesses amused themselves by 
conversing on the sanctity and the firmness of Gre¬ 
gory, who, from the pure love of good, did not hesi¬ 
tate to undertake a long and painful journey in 
such a severe season, and notwithstanding his bad 
health—enfeebled much more by cares and anxieties 
than age—the mournful sound of an instrument in 
an adjoining apartment attracted their attention. 
The chamber in which they were was the most 
remote and isolated in the castle, and conse¬ 
quently very far from the halls where the young 
lords and courtiers were spending the time in 
boisterous gaiety. The two friends suspended 
their discourse, and listened to the harmony which 
thus broke in upon the stillness of the night. A 
light and delicate hand was sweeping the low chords 
of a harp, whose sweet and plaintive sounds ac¬ 
companied a song of unutterable sadness: the voice, 
clear, silvery, and tremulous, sank to the most 
mournful notes, and gave them a sorrowful and 
touching expression which went to the heart and 
filled it with compassion. 

“Ah ! what crushing sorrows 
My early youth have marred 1 


Yoland de Groningen, 55 

Exile and long absence, 

Alas ! I feel how hard. 

“ From my first fair springtime 
Stern sorrow was my lot, 

And though I am but twenty, 

Ill fortune spared me not. 

“ Dear Magdeburg, farewell; 

Thy proud keep’s imag’d e’er 
Within the Elbe, which sighs 
At leaving shores so fair. 

“ I hear in all around 

I shall never more see thee. 

O vain, O wild regrets ! 

No country now for me. 

“What joy, what bliss it were 
Thy sky and wave to see. 

Within the shadow of thy walla 
How happy could I be. 

“We must henceforth forget 

Groningen’s much-loved shore : 

The daughter of Pandolph 
Shall see it nevermore.” 


And tlie last quiver of the harp-strings seemed, 
under the touch of the singer, to repeat mournfully: 
‘^Nevermore, nevermore!” At these last words, 
lost in a sigh which breathed of the piety and 
resignation of a soul who has placed her sorrows 
and her hopes in God alone, the Marchioness 
Adelaide was moved to tears, and turning to her 
companion: 

^‘My friend,” said she, ^^who is it that sings 
with so much grace and expression ? ” 

It is my dear Yoland,” replied Mathilda. . . 


Yoland de Gro^iingen, 


56 


‘‘What! that beautiful young girl who showed 
such skill the other day in hunting with the 
falcon ? She seemed to me very much gifted by 
nature, for, in addition to the grace and elegance of 
her manner, she shows a modesty which doubly 
enhances their value, concealing them under an air 
of timidity and reserve which is most charmings 
The maidens of my suite are quite taken with her, 
and talk of nothing else. According to them, this 
young girl is the most accomplished of all those of 
thy court, which, however, includes a great number, 
and many of great merit. To tell the truth, I am 
under the spell myself, for from the gallery of thy 
chapel I admire the fervor and piety of thy beauti¬ 
ful Yoland : wouldst thou believe that her atti¬ 
tude and her exterior inspire me with devotion ? 
The Marquis of Saluzzo and the Count Eaconigi have 
often spoken of her to the Bishoi5 of Keggio, my 
Lord of Modena, and to the Count of Parma, but 
none of them could satisfy their curiosity. They 
merely replied that she had come from Mantua, and 
were silent as to all the rest: they, however, agreed 
on one thing, that, judging by the dignity and dis¬ 
tinction of her bearing, she must be of high birth. 
Tell me, I pi-ay thee, is she Italian, or was she born 
in thy possessions in Lotharingia ? 

No, dear Adelaide. Yoland is from Upper 
Germany, but I keep her origin secret for im¬ 
portant reasons, which I may however confide to 
thy prudence. My poor Yoland is of high birth : 
her father the Count de Groningen, and her 
mother a daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse, 


Yoland de Groningen, 57 

a nobie-hearted lady, and devoted beyond measure 
to her husband. Count Pandolph, a wise and pru¬ 
dent man, governed his states mildly and justly, 
and his people lived in peace, till the melancholy 
days of the Anti-Pope Oadolaiis—raised up doubtless 
by hell as a brand of discord, enkindled in the bo¬ 
som of God^ Church to disturb and devastate it. 
Pandolph, a truly Catholic prince, embraced the 
cause of justice, that is to say, that of Pope Alexan¬ 
der II. of holy memory, and all his subjects fol¬ 
lowed his example. This conduct was so much the 
more praiseworthy that attachment to the Chair of 
Saint Peter was not a common virtue, and that 
many of the highest barons of Germany espoused 
the cause of the Anti-Pope, to obtain the good 
graces of the young Emperor. 

The Marquis of Brandenburg, a man entirely 
devoted to the imperial party, declared to the Count 
that he must abandon the interests of Pope Alexan¬ 
der, and espouse that of Cadolatis. Pandolph re¬ 
fused, and the Brandenburgians immediately 
marched against him at fche liead of a powerful 
body of cavalry and infantry. The noble Count col¬ 
lected all his forces, wishing to meet him half-way ; 
he crossed the Elbe, and went in search of the 
enemy as far as Camink, so as to open the engage¬ 
ment on the very territory of his adversary. The 
combat was lively. Pandolph, rushing in among 
the Brandenburgian knights, routed them, and vic¬ 
tory seemed about to declare for him, when Count 
Dessau, suddenly rushing out of an ambush, at¬ 
tacked their flank, and cut to pieces the body of 


58 


Yoland de Groningen. 


Groningen cavalry; and their commander, sur¬ 
rounded on all sides, and, besides, wounded and 
thrown from his horse, was taken prisoner, whilst 
the rest of his people were forced to retreat in 
great disorder. 

‘‘Adeltrude, Pandolph’s wife, thought she would 
die of grief when, on the return of his troops, de¬ 
feated, terrified, and seeking an asylum under the 
walls of Groningen, she saw that her husband was 
not among their ranks. She questioned every sol¬ 
dier ; none of them could tell her what had become 
of the Count. Inspired by her conjugal love, she 
addressed herself to Guinigise, Pandolph’s younger 
brother, a generous and upright young man : ‘ Let 
us go,’ said she to him, ‘ let us go and seek him our¬ 
selves on the field of battle.’ Next day, at dawn, 
they set out, crossed the Elbe in a frail bark, and 
at sunset reached the field on which the battle had 
been fought. They at first perceived the traces of 
the encounter between the Brandenburgians and the 
Count and his warriors; then they reached the 
place of ambush, they recognized the corpses of 
their soldiers with which the ground was strewn. 
With firm step, Adeltrude went from one to the 
other, raising the visor of their helmets, examining 
the features of each, admiring in her heart the 
heroic defence which they had made to save their 
lord, till at length they recognized the leopard 
which had been the crest of Pandolph’s helmet, 
and the feathers which adorned it; these feathers 
were bruised and bloody, but, alas I of the Count 
there was no trace. 


Yoland de Groningen. 


59 


Almost heart-broken, she entered all the dwell¬ 
ings in the neighborhood, even the humblest; 
barns, stables, and coach-houses, no place escaped 
her search ; she questioned the peasants who had 
hastened to the field of battle to strip the dead. 
She even ventured to slip into the Castle of Camink, 
penetrated to the hospital where the wounded were 
lodged, going from one to another, studying their 
faces, until she at length recognized amongst them 
a young knight from Groningen, whom she asked 
for tidings of the Count. The young man was 
mortally wounded in the back by a lance. He, 
however, turned to the Countess, and said to her 
in a broken voice : ‘ My noble master had already 
conquered when the traitor Dessau attacked him 
from behind, wounded him, threw him from his 
horse, and, in spite of his heroic resistance, made 
him prisoner. He has doubtless been transported 
to the Castle of Brandenburg ; but thou, my lady, 
what dost thou here ? Thou wouldst be a victim 
to thine affection if thou wert recognized; thou 
wouldst be given up to the Marquis of Branden¬ 
burg, that enemy of our holy Church. But, I 
pray thee, be pleased to tell my mother to find con¬ 
solation for my death, in that I received it in 
defence of the true Vicar of Christ and the Count 
Pandolph, my beloved lord.’ 

‘^Overcome by these sad tidings, the Countess 
returned to Groningen, where she learned that her 
husband had been taken, well guarded, to the 
Monastery of Potsdam, there to recover from his 
wound, under the care of the holy monks of that 


6 o 


Yoland de Groningen. 


place; for tliou knowest, dear Adelaide, that in 
our times only religious understand medicine or 
possess drugs. Adeltrude sent ambassadors to 
Brandenburg. They were commissioned to negoti¬ 
ate for peace and the Count’s ransom, but the piti¬ 
less victor refused all terms, and swore that he 
would let Pandolph die of hunger and misery in a 
cell if he would not agree to support the preten¬ 
sions of Cadolaiis. Inspired by her love, Adeltrude 
conceived a noble plan. She sent for Guinigise, 
her brother-in-law, opened her heart to him, con¬ 
fided the government of her states to the prudence 
of the young Prince, then, cutting off her beautiful 
bair, and taking with her most of her jewels, she 
put on male attire, and left Groningen one dark 
night, taking the road to Potsdam. 

As soon as she reached the monastery, she pre? 
sented herself to the Abbot as an hospital nurse, 
passing herself off for a young man from Altem 
burg in Austria, and declaring herself skilful in 
the care of the sick. The Abbot, deceived as to 
her sex, and as she seemed to be a discreet and 
honest youth, made no objection to admitting her 
among the attendants of the house. Adeltrude de¬ 
meaned herself so well towards the religious and the 
sick, and showed such sweetness and humility, that 
she soon made herself beloved by every one. With¬ 
out seeming to recognize the Count, she took care 
of all the sick with great zeal, arranging their beds, 
making everything clean and orderly, distributing 
to each the prescribed remedies, always silent, 
modest, recollected, and ready to do everything for 


Yoland de Groningen. 6i 

•very one. However, when she saw that the Oount^s 
wounds were nearly healed, she approached Pan- 
dolph’s bed one night, when every one in the 
monastery was asleep, made herself known, em¬ 
braced him tenderly, and revealed to him the plan 
which she had conceived for his deliverance. 

Whilst fulfilling her duties in the convent, she 
had observed the means of entrance, the means by 
which her husband might be set at liberty without 
any one knowing how he had escaped. The monas¬ 
tery is surrounded by walls and towers, under which 
is a large moat, to protect the sacred asylum from 
the too frequent incursions of the Preteni.* It 
could only be crossed by a drawbridge, which was 
lowered at sunset, and never raised again till sun¬ 
rise. Opposite the cloisters there was, however, a 
little wood, skirted by a fringe of larch trees, over¬ 
hung by a rock, at the foot of which flowed the 
river Harvel, broader and deeper here than at any 
other place. Adeltrude carefully examined this rock, 
to discover some path, or at least some rugged places, 
by means of which a descent might be made into 
the abyss. Vain hope, useless search; it would 
require wings to escape. Her love had made her 
daring, her love now made her ingenious. 

‘‘Before leaving Groningen, she had an under¬ 
standing with her brother-in-law, Guinigise. He 
was to send to her Predolph, an old and faithful 
servant of her house. Disguised under the rags of 
a beggar, he had only to stand before the door of 


* The Prussians of our day, then a fierce and savage people. 


62 


Yoland de Gronmgen. 


the monastery feigning to ask alms. All had suc¬ 
ceeded, and Adeltrude, in bringing the old man his 
scanty pittance every morning, gave him news of 
herself and of her husband. She was thus enabled 
to communicate to him her plan of flight, and to 
send word to Guinigise to obtain for her, as soon as 
possible, a ladder of silk a hundred fathoms long, 
then to arrange everything so that a boat would be 
at the foot of the rock in question, at the spot 
which was shaded by an aged oak; she also told 
him the precise night and hour which she had fixed 
for the execution of her plan. Meanwhile, Pandolph 
was able to leave his bed. On the appointed night 
Adeltrude, profiting by the deep slumber in which 
the whole monastery was sunk, awoke her husband, 
went out softly with him, crossed the little wood in 
the direction of the larch trees before-mentioned. 
There she drew from a sack the precious ladder 
which Fredolph had secretly brought her, fastened 
it to the foot of the oak, then, after having clasped 
her husband in her arms, she made him descend, 
saying.- ^ Await me at the fountain of Teltow, 
where I shall rejoin thee at noon.’ At the ap¬ 
pointed signal the boat came close to the rock, 
Pandolph got in it, Adeltrude unfastened the lad¬ 
der, threw it to the boatman, and by a few strokes 
of the oar the fugitive was on the other bank. 

The following day, as soon as the drawbridge 
was lowered, the brave Countess, pretending that 
she had to go out on business for the convent, left 
the monastery and went to Potsdam. She soon 
reached the river and crossed ; at a little distance 


Yoland de Groningen. 63 

from the shore was one of the grooms of Guinigise, 
holding a horse already saddled, who awaited her, as 
another one had likewise awaited Pandolph on the 
previous night. Adeltrude was at the fountain, where 
her husband was waiting for her, before the 
appointed hour. To send back the two grooms to 
Groningen, and to fly in all haste by the cross-road, 
was what prudence demanded, for the Marquis of 
Brandenburg would not fail to pursue the fugitives. 
They did not stop till they reached the frontiers of 
Bohemia, and were at first resolved to remain at 
Pilsen; but having learned that the Marquis, 
furious at their flight, had sent emissaries in all 
directions to seize upon them, they thought them¬ 
selves scarcely secure in that town, and decided to 
cross the Moldau and take refuge in Moravia. They 
arrived there, passing themselves off for poor citi¬ 
zens from Austria, and settled in the town of 
Zenaim, where, by their humble and retired life, 
they turned all attention from them, and could wait 
in safety till better days would permit them to 
return to their states. 

Soon after this, God gave our dear Yoland to 
the Countess. You can imagine the joy of Adel¬ 
trude, and what a consolation Pandolph found this 
child in the sorrows of his exile. However, Henry 
IV., the young Emperor, although educated by the 
care of Hatton de Cologne, who had taken him from 
the guardianship of the Empress Agnes, his mother, 
had fallen since his childhood into the hands of 
base men, vile courtiers, who, in order to rule him 
more easily, and to attain their guilty end, allov/ed 


64 Yoland de Groningen. 

him to give himself up to his passions. From that 
time his young heart, already corrupted, cherished 
feelings of hostility towards the holy Church and 
its pastors. He began openly to brave Pope 
Alexander ; and as most of the German princes had 
allowed themselves to be led into recognizing the 
Anti-Pope to please the emperor. Count Pandolph 
found it impossible to make any terms with the 
enemies of the Holy See, and had no other resource 
than to remain prudently concealed in Moravia. 

Yoland, a beautiful and graceful child, had 
just attained the first bloom of youth. Her father 
wished that she should be educated in a noble and 
Christian manner, and to accomplish this he placed 
her in the hands of the pious ladies whose convent 
is situated on a smiling hill not far from the city 
of Brunn. The abbess that directed it was a noble 
woman of mature age, a sister of the Landgrave of 
Thuringia, and celebrated throughout Moravia for 
her gi*eat wisdom and holiness. More than a hun¬ 
dred religious, from Bohemia, Hungary, and 
Poland, dwelt there under her mild rule, and were 
formed to virtue even more by her example than by 
her words. Theotberga, as the abbess was named, 
soon became attached to this child, who was remark¬ 
able for her gentleness, sweetness, and docility 
amongst all the young girls who, within the convent, 
were being trained to piety and the practice of all 
virtues. Pandolph and Adeltrude, who always 
passed, in the eyes of the abbess, for simple towns¬ 
people, often came to see their daughter at the con¬ 
vent. But they could not so well disguise their 


Yoland de Groningen. 65 

noble and easy manners, nor change the elegance of 
their language, nor obscure the clearness of their 
judgment, nor conceal the dignity and nobility of 
their persons, but that the abbess, a woman of a clear 
and penetrating eye, guessed to some extent that 
these were people of high rank under their apparent 
and borrowed simplicity. Her suspicions were in¬ 
creased when Yoland, come to the age of reason, 
began to receive from the lips of Adeltrude, her 
mother, earnest counsels, and exhortations to profit 
well by the studies she was making, and which were 
however only necessary to a young girl of high rank. 
Often, too, the pretended citizen’s wife, clasping her 
child passionately in her arms, would say to her: 
^My beloved Yoland, form thyself to virtue and 
prepare thyself for better days. God tries us, in¬ 
deed, but he is our Father, and his justice will not 
make him forget his mercy; be always good, and 
fortify thy heart with hope and strength.’ 

Theotberga took note of these words, and besides, 
she read in the mother’s eyes more than her lips 
expressed. All tended to enlighten the abbess—her 
pale face, oppressed breath, the sigh which escaped 
from the trouble of the Countess’ soul,of ten betrayed 
the mystery of her heart. One day when Pandolph 
had come to see his daughter, he said to Theotberga 
as he was about taking leave of her : ^ Madame and 
Keverend Mother, although I am but a poor citizen, 
I venture to beg of thee that thou wilt have the kind¬ 
ness to have Yolande taught to play the harp and 
the lute, and to train her voice thoroughly, and 
even to teach her to dance and ride on horseback.’ 


66 


Yoland de Groningen. 


conform to thy wishes/ replied Theot- 
herga, ^ hufc I think it prudent to make a simple 
observation to thee; it is, that music, singing, 
dancing, and riding are only suitable for the 
daughters of marquises, counts, and the great 
vassals of the crown. Persons of thy condition are 
usually content to have their children taught to 
read the Psalms and the lives of the virgins and 
martyrs. There are no young girls, unless they have 
at least a barony, who ever desire to receive any 
more than this amount of education. 

^ Eeverend Mother,’ replied Pandolph, ^ thou art 
right, but every man has his plans, and I, in spite of 
the obscure rank in which thou seest me, have had 
in regard to my daughter and her birth predictions 
which I cannot treat lightl}’. One day I was pass¬ 
ing through a gloomy forest, when a terrible storm 
surprised me ; rain and hail fell in torrents ; thun¬ 
der rolled, lightning flashed and rent the heavens ; 
the raging elements, the darkness of the forest, the 
wind bending and breaking the strongest trees, all 
combined to increase my alarm, and I spurred my 
horse not knowing what I was doing nor where I 
was going. All at once I perceived a bright light 
through the tufted foliage. I went towards it, and 
I soon found myself in the midst of an enclosure of 
steep and arid rocks, amongst which opened a deep 
grotto, whence came the light which had attracted 
me; to dismount from my horse, fasten it to the 
trunk of a dead tree, and enter the cavern in all 
haste, was the affair of a moment. A long narrow 
passage like the corridor of a cloister led me toafire^ 


Yoland de Groytingen. 67 

beside which I saw no one; however, I approached, 
and began to dry my garments, drenclied with rain. 
I could then perceive that the cave ran off into two 
branches, one of which was to the left, the other to 
the right, but these openings were so long and so 
low that the eye was soon lost in the darkness. 
The silence and solitude which here reigned in¬ 
creased still more the alarm which the tempest had 
awakened in my mind. Whose hand had enkindled 
this fire ? Who was the inhabitant of this cavern? 
The idea that outlaws, coiners, or bandits, perhaps, 
made this their retreat, forced me to keep on my 
guard, and the more so that, all at once, slow heavy 
steps resounded from the passage on the right. I 
tried to penetrate the darkness which enshrouded it, 
and it seemed to me that a dark figure was slowly 
approaching ! At this sight my heart beat and my 
hair stood on end. God guard thee, Pandolph,” 
said a deep voice, and I discovered an old man who, 
coming into the circle of the light, showed me a 
pale and emaciated face, which long white hair and 
a snowy beard rendered still more venerable. 

Cease to fear, Pandolph,’’ continued the appari¬ 
tion ; ^^at the approach of the storm which threat¬ 
ened thee, I lit this fire, to serve thee as a guide, and 
to warm thy stiffened limbs. Give me thy hand ! 
Without knowing what I did I gave it to him, and 
whilst he held it in his long thin fingers, he looked 
at me fixedly and attentively. Listen, Pandolph,’^ 
resumed he at length; thou hast become a father a 
short time since. The eyes of thy Yoland, now so 
weak, shall one day become bright and full of fire. 


68 


Yoland de Groningen, 


They shall see fourteen times twelve moons, then 
two moons more, then two moons and a half, and a 
Moravian Prince shall solicit the honor of her 
hand; hut that Prince shall see hut once those 
limpid eyes; it shall he the Landgrave who shall 
merit the hand of thy Yoland. Pandolph, preserve 
thy child with care for the destiny which awaits 
her.” This he said; then, letting go my hand, 
with the end of a long stick which supported his 
steps, he stirred the fire and sent out a shower of 
sparks. Count them, if thou canst, 0 Pandolph!” 
cried he in apiercing voice. many as the sparks 
which have flown from the bosom of that fire so 
many are the misfortunes which shall burst upon 
the head of thy Yoland ; hut fear not, God shall 
draw her from all these perils, and shall turn them 
to the greater happiness of thy child.” Such, 
Reverend Mother, were the words of this old man, 
whom some have told me was a skilful magician, 
and others, with more truth, declare to be a holy 
hermit, who, for thirty years, has buried himself 
alive in that cavern. And this is why, madame, I 
beseech thee to protect my Yoland/ 

The Abbess took careful note of the mysterious 
words of Pandolph, who, whilst keeping from the 
holy woman what was her origin, yet wished to 
make known the prediction of the solitary touch¬ 
ing his daughter.” 

'' But,” asked the Marchioness de Susa, dost 
thou believe, Mathilda, that all that was true ? 
Was it not rather a stratagem of Pandolph to 
conceal from the Abbess his high rank of sovereign 


Yoland de Groningen. 69 

count, whilst inducing her, by means of a feigned 
prophecy, to educate his child like a princess, which 
she really was by birth ? 

As for me,’^ replied the Countess, I believe all 
that to be certain. Events have in all respects 
fulfilled the predictions of the holy hermit. It 
was not by magic, but indeed by a divine revela¬ 
tion, that he read the future of this young girl, in 
such manner as to be mistaken in nothing.” 

Poor Yoland has then suffered a great deal. 
Poor child, my heart bleeds for her : she seems to 
me so worthy of a milder fate. I now understand 
the sorrowful meaning of her lay. But, tell me. 
Countess, is she still in danger ? Can she have 
anything to fear under thy hospitable roof with thee 
who lovest her as a daughter ? Thou seemest not 
to treat, her like the other maidens of thy court, 
and all, even to the most honored ladies of the 
palace, yield to her the first place; besides, thou 
dost admit her to thy table with the princes whom 
thou dost there receive.” 

^^My friend,” answered the Countess, ‘^1 do not 
love nor esteem her any more than she deserves, not 
only from her noble lineage, but from her candor, 
grace, and the nobility and excellence of her soul, 
adorned with every virtue. When thou hast heard 
the sad story of the misfortunes which her mar¬ 
vellous beauty and the perverse designs of an in¬ 
fatuated man drew upon her, thy pity, I am sure, 
will mingle with indignation. If the Holy Mother 
of God and her good angel had not protected and 
sustained her in a visible manner, it would have 


70 Yoland de Groningen. 

been impossible for her to have escaped so many pit- 
falls, to avoid so many snares, to struggle against 
so many obstacles, and to come victorious from the 
^ midst of so many perplexities. The firmness, good 
sense, and prudence of this young woman will seem 
to thee the more astonishing that thou shalt see 
her frequently deprived of all human counsel and 
support. Often when, having retired with me to 
the solitude of my own apartment, she would sing, 
accompanying herself on the lute, and seeing her 
sweet and noble face, I was filled with tenderness, 
and asked myself how such a beautiful creature 
could sustain such cruel misfortunes, and how so 
much strength could dwell in her soul, as simple 
and pure as a dove. Then, yielding to the im¬ 
pulse of my heart, I would cast myself upon her 
neck and embrace her, whilst she wept in my arms, 
calling me her mother and returning my caresses.” 

Adelaide de Susa, touched by the words of the 
Countess Mathilda, prayed her to relate the misfor¬ 
tunes of Yoland. The Countess consented, and 
that story, commenced that very evening, occupied 
them both during several of the succeeding morn¬ 
ings. We shall relate it in the following chapters, 
and the reader can be assured of their truth by 
glancing over the old chronicles of Groningen. 


CHAPTER IV. 


OTTOCAR DE BRUl^N. 

Reflecting on the words of Randolph, the ab¬ 
bess came to the conclusion that he was not what 
he seemed to he, and that he was rather a man of 
rank, who, for secret and legitimate reasons, was 
forced to disguise himself under this coarse garb. 
She therefore applied herself to give Yoland such 
an education that her pupil might be fitted to 
ascend a throne, if Heaven should call her to it. 
By acting thus Theofcberga displayed her prudence ; 
she knew the times to be troublous and disturbed 
in Germany, and even throughout Western Christen¬ 
dom, in consequence of the civil discord which the 
imperial ambition had stirred up everywhere. The 
German lords were divided amongst themselves and 
irritated against Henry IV. Some of them espoused 
the cause of Alexander II. and his successor, 
Gregory VII., the true and lawful Sovereign Pon¬ 
tiffs of the Roman Church ; others followed the 
banner of Cadolaus of Parma, and afterwards of 
Gilbert of Ravenna, the anti-popes, proud and dis¬ 
solute men, who had treacherously entered the fold 
of Jesus Christ to ravage it. In those rude times 
the right was only upheld at the point of the 





72 


Ottocar de Brunn, 


sword or the lance, or, if force was insufficient, 
treachery carried the point. Therefore it fre¬ 
quently happened that a prince, oppressed by his 
enemies and despoiled of his states, was forced to 
seek, in a distant place of exile and under a bor¬ 
rowed name and garb, a refuge from perfidy. 

However, Yoland’s days glided peacefully by 
within the convent; docile to her teachers, esteemed 
by her companions, beloved by all, she was happy. 
One fine morning towards the end of the month of 
May, the young pupils, under the care of some of 
the religious, went to a chapel dedicated to Our 
Lady of Help. This shrine stood in the midst of a 
little wood situated just outside the cloister walls, 
not far from a limpid stream crossed by a rustic 
bridge. The mildness of the season, the fresh 
verdure, the pure air fragrant with sweet scents, 
the harmonious song of numberless different birds 
that hopped from branch to branch or hid their 
nests in the thick foliage, all invited the noble 
maidens to linger in the fields or on the flowering 
slopes of the neighboring hills. Some of the young 
girls amused themselves running through the fra¬ 
grant grass amongst the humming bees ; others 
chased the butterfly, with its wings of a thousand 
dyes ; and others, again, stronger and more active, 
climbed with light step the surrounding hills. A 
knot of girls, seated under the shade of the elms, 
sang to a lute, gi’acefully touched by the fair Yal- 
domire, a pious hymn in honor of Our Lady. An¬ 
other group, near a fountain which gushed from 
the sides of the rock, gathered fresh flowers and 


Ottocar de Brunn. 73 

twined them into garlands to adorn the sacred 
image, at whose feet all this youthful hand were to 
unite in prayer, for such was the object of their 
coming. 

Yoland, laden with the wealth of flowers, ar¬ 
ranged them in garlands whilst conversing on the 
beauty of this delightful spot and walking beside 
the stream with Sister Valburga, her skilful teacher 
in the art of illuminating parchments. Thus chat¬ 
ting, they followed the bank, which led to a green 
turf-covered spot, and advanced, without perceiv¬ 
ing it, to a solitary place, where the collected 
waters of the stream formed a basin, round which 
the nightingales sang joyously, hidden under the 
shade of white poplars, willows, and hazel trees. 
They stopped to listen to this sweet concert, 
and perhaps to see themselves reflected in the 
clear waters, when all at once the neighboring 
forest rang with the distant sound of the hunting- 
horn, the barking of dogs and the neighing of 
steeds. Somewhat alarmed, they turned their eyes 
in the direction of the noise, and could distinguish 
through the trees the hunters goading the sides of 
their ponderous coursers with the spur. All at 
once, at a few paces behind the two ladies, an im¬ 
mense stag sprang from the brushwood ; he ran, 
with head erect and horns thrown back, wild with 
terror ; he passed close by Yoland, knocked against 
her, threw her down, and flew on, whilst the poor 
child rolled to the edge of the water, fell in, and 
disappeared. Valburga uttered a terrible cry, 
rushed to the bank, and had the good fortune to 


74 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


seize her pupil by the dress when she came np to 
the surface of the water. The religious drew her 
out, laid her on the sand, and was busying herself 
in unfastening her dress that she might breathe 
more freely, W'hen a young man, armed with a 
spear, rode up at full gallop in pursuit of the stag. 
At sight of the young girl lying pale and inanimate 
on the grass, the horseman drew rein, sprang to 
the ground, fastened his horse to the trunk of an 
ancient oak, and hastened towards the ladies. He 
wore at his side a carved silver gourd filled with 
old Chypre wine, a precaution always useful in the 
chase. To pour some drops on the lips of t!ie 
sufferer, to rub her hands and temples, was the 
work of an instant, and he soon saw her come to 
herself, open her eyes and look slowly round her 
with a deep sigh. Yoland, entirely restored, arose 
and joined with Sister Valburga in thanking the 
hunter for the service which he had rendered her ; 
then, leaning on the arm of the religious, they went 
slowly to rejoin their companions. 

The horseman was the young Ottocar, son of the 
powerful Marquis of Brunn, who a short time be¬ 
fore had called him to assist in the government 
of his states, for he was growing old. Ottocar 
had been betrothed from childhood to Gisela, 
daughter of the Duke of Moravia, but this did not 
prevent him from following the bent of his pas¬ 
sions. He first allowed Yoland and Sister Valburga 
to proceed some distance, then suddenly reining 
in his horse, with a determined air he turned 
towards the part of the wood through which the 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


75 


ladies had disappeared, followed their path, and 
soon reached the meadow, where the pupils and re¬ 
ligious had already gathered round Yoland, assist¬ 
ing her in changing part of her clothing, whilst 
they held out the other to dry in the sun. 

Ottocar approached the youthful group with 
some embarrassment, and enquired after Yoland. 
8he had already related to her companions what 
had happened to her, and the service which an un¬ 
known knight had rendered her, therefore he was 
at once surrounded by the pupils and religious. 
Yoland, who had recovered her color, came for¬ 
ward modestly, and offered him a wild-rose which 
she had just plucked: 

Accept it, my lord,” said she to him—accept 
it as a remembrance of the fine stag which thou 
didst lose in restoring me to consciousness.” 

Ottocar took the fiower and fastened it in the 
left side of his doublet, then turning about, he 
rode towards the forest, spurring his steed with 
feverish ardor, and disappeared in the foliage. 
The young Marquis was about twenty years of age; 
he was tall and vigorous in person, but his manners 
were rude, and his character harsh and cruel. On 
rejoining his attendants, he found that the stag 
had fallen under the repeated blows of the hunters, 
but instead of rejoicing with them, as he usually 
did on such occasions, Ottocar received this news 
with a cold and abstracted air. Vainly did his 
companions come from all sides, carrying the 
trophies of the victories which they had won over 
the bears, bucks, boars, and foxes which inhabited 


76 


Ottocar de Brunn, 


these woods ; vainly did the carts loaded with game 
set out for Brann to the sound of horns, drums, 
and bells; Ottocar returned to the paternal roof 
without taking any part in the triumph, and throw¬ 
ing himself from his horse, he hastily retired to his 
apartments. 

He eagerly unfastened his belt, took the wild 
rose which Yoland had given him, and was about 
to place it in a perfumed casket of gold, when he 
perceived that two of the petals had fallen off the 
flower. His narrow and superstitious mind saw in 
this an evil omen, and from this trifling loss he 
drew a bad augury. He immediately called for two 
astrologers whom he kept at the castle, showed them 
the precious flower, and commanded them to ex¬ 
plain how and why it had lost two of its leaves. 

These impostors were of Catalonian origin; they 
had lived for a long time amongst the Moors of 
Grenada, and declared themselves initiated in the 
science of the stars by their master, the celebrated 
Avicenno. They at once went up into their obser¬ 
vatory, and feigned to pass the night there in read¬ 
ing the constellations; then next day, at dawn, they 
returned to the young prince and said to him : 

My lord, the stars have shown themselves fa¬ 
vorable ; we have seen that the sign of the Virgin 
in its ascension predicts the great destiny which 
Heaven reserves for thee. This rose, with its five 
leaves, represents the royal crown, which shall be 
adorned with five precious jewels. A young maiden 
of a princely house is destined for thy wife; she 
shall bring thee five cities surrounded by walls, and 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


n 


five fortresses : . . . that is to say, as many 

as there are petals on this flower.” 

At this absurd reply Ottocar was filled with joy, 
and he began mentally to connect the lying oracles’ 
words with the young girl of the stream, whom he 
had so quickly decided on preferring to G-isela. He 
continually asked himself who she could he and 
whence she came ; her grace and dignity gave her 
the air of a queen. The ravages which the Danes 
were making at that period on the coast of Eng¬ 
land made him sometimes suppose that this young 
maiden’s father -was perhaps some king of North¬ 
umberland, Mercia, or of Western England, who, 
after a defeat, had come into Germany to raise 
troops, return to England, and reconquer his states. 
In the hope of discovering the damsel’s rank, Otto¬ 
car at length resolved to question the Abbess of 
the monastery, a woman of wide renown, and whom 
he knew to be of great prudence. 

He announced a grand hunt for the next day, 
and invited to it all the lords of his dominions ; he 
sent messages, praying them to bring with them 
their choicest hounds. Accordingly, at the dawn 
of the following day the young knights of the 
neighborhood, all armed with spears, pikes, and 
javelins, met at the drawbridge of Brunn, sound¬ 
ing the horn sonorously and making their steeds 
prance and gambol. Ottocar at once proceeded to 
the stables where his bay charger was kept. He 
was about to get into his saddle when he discover¬ 
ed that the two leaves of Yoland’s rose had caught 
on the silver carving of his saddle-bows when he 


78 


Ottocar de Brimn, 


had left his horse the evening before ; he carefully 
picked u]3 the leaves of the flower, put them into 
his purse, sprang on his liorse, and, having had 
the bridge lowered, joined his guests. 

When they reached tlie forest which lies at the 
confluence of the Scarth and Zwittau, they took their 
course towards the hills and plains of Austerlitz; 
there the grand huntsman assigned to each of the 
hunters and his attendants their special post, whilst 
the dogs, released from their leashes, beat about 
the brushwood to start the game from its hiding- 
place. Already the forest was ringing with shouts, 
the barking of dogs, the galloping of horses, and 
the shrill sound of the horn ; from all parts fled 
the affrighted deer, making themselves a passage 
over glade and brushwood and forests of oaks and 
firs. Just then Ottocar, profiting by the general 
eagerness in following the flying deer, reined to the 
right, passed through a solitary valley, and, putting 
spurs to. his panting steed, reached the edge of the 
stream beside which he had met the unconscious 
Yoland. Then he hastily turned bridle and rode 
off at full gallop. 

He at length arrived at the gates of the monas¬ 
tery ; he fastened his horse to the trunk of an aged 
linden-tree which shaded the entrance, and passed 
into the first court, where he found the apartments 
of the Abbess. The gate-keeper had often seen 
Ottocar when he accompanied his father the Mar¬ 
quis to the church on certain grand festivals of 
the year ; he knew him at once, and made haste to 
announce him. The Superioress was at first surpris- 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


79 


ed at this unexpected visit, hut, like a clever and 
prudent woman, she showed no sign of it, and went 
down to the parlor, where she found the young 
prince, to whom she gave a most cordial welcome, 
asking him what had caused him to honor with 
his presence the humble community which she di¬ 
rected. Ottocar replied that in the ardor of the 
chase he had been led to follow in pursuit of a 
frightened stag, of which he had lost sight in the 
neighboring forest, and that, while seeking it in the 
glade and brushwood, he had all at once found 
himself in the fields which surrounded the con¬ 
vent ; that seeing this, he had proposed to himself 
to come thither to greet the reverend Mother, for 
whom he had always j)rofessed the highest esteem. 

Theotberga thanked him for his attention, and 
began to converse on indifferent subjects, whilst he 
partook of a delicate collation of fruits and Italian 
wines which she had served for him ; but Ottocar, 
as if struck by a sudden thought, interrupted his 
repast to speak of Yoland, and to ask if she was 
quite recovered from her fall into the stream and 
the fainting-fit which had been the result of it. 

Thanks to Heaven, she is very well,” replied 
the Abbess, and seems to have forgotten the oc¬ 
currence, like a brave and noble girl as she is.” 

she a townswoman of ours, or a stranger ?” 
asked the young man. She is said to be a strang¬ 
er,” conlinued he. Whose daughter is she ?” 

The daughter of a humble citizen of middle 
age,” answered the Abbess. 

Ottocar, absorbed in thought, cast his eyes va- 


8o 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


cantly on the objects which surrounded him ; then, 
abruptly breaking silence, he said : 

Madame, thou dost dissimulate. This young 
girl betrays a royal origin; her countenance, her 
carriage, are the marks of royalty: she cannot be 
of common birth. Where is her father ? ” 

The Abbess guessed from the change in the young 
prince’s face what a dark tempest was agitating his 
soul; she felt her suspicions as to Pandolph’s real 
title increase. Ottocar’s last words fully enlight¬ 
ened her. She firmly believed that he had certain 
information as to the true condition of the exile; 
therefore she answered frankly : 

think thou art not mistaken, my lord.” 

So much the better,” said he quickly ; for, in 
any case, I wish to ask her hand. Question Yo- 
land, and in a few days give me her answer. ” 

But, my lord, art thou not betrothed to the 
Princess Gisela of Moravia ? ” asked Theotberga. 

The Duke already considers thee as his son, and 
all thy vassals are preparing to congratulate thee 
on this alliance.” 

The young man reddened, then, looking angrily 
at the Abbess, he said : 

Where does Yoland’s father live ? At Brunn ? 
. . . At Olmutz ?” 

He lives at Ziiaim,” replied the religious. 

God. guard thee. Mother!” said he then ; ^Hn 
three days thou shaft see me here for my answer.” 

She had, then, the terrible secret at last, poor 
woman ; and from her knowledge of the rude, 
haughty, and inflexible character of the young lord, 


Otiocar de Brunn.. 8i 

she shuddered as she foresaw the misfortunes which 
would full on her, on Yoland, and perhaps even 
on the convent. Nevertheless, she said to herself 
that God, the guardian of innocence and defender 
of right, would extend his powerful hand for the 
safety of the young girl and of the spouses of his 
divine Son. Still, she thought it prudent to write to 
Pandolph of what had taken place, and during the 
night she sent her letter to Znaim by a mounted 
messenger, who brought back the answer ; it was 
thus expressed : 

The lowliness of her condition, her poverty, 
and her being a foreigner would not permit him 
to suffer that his daughter should aspire to such a 
brilliant alliance. Not being made for so much 
honor, it would be unworthy of the Marquis to 
raise her to himself; he would much rather she 
should follow a vocation to the convent. And if God, 
after all, did not call Yoland to the religious life, 
he would find some man of obscure birth who would 
accept her for his wife.” 

The Abbess foresaw the tempest which this reply 
would awaken in the heart of the Moravian; she 
made a thousand plans to protect her pupil and the 
convent against the violence of the young tyrant. 
None appeared to her surer than the following : 
to persuade Pandolph to come and secretly take his 
daughter and conduct her to the Castle of Znaim, 
where she would be fully sheltered, that citadel 
being without the states of Brunn. On his side, 
Ottocar, with his usual shrewdness, already said to 
himself that, in case his offer should be rejected. 


82 


Ottocar de Brtinn. 


fclie father would not leave liis daughter at the con¬ 
vent, and that he would come to seek her as soon 
as possible. Therefore he resolved to place himself 
on the road with his followers, and to force the 
father to give him his daughter if it cost him his 
life. However, the first thing to do was to discover 
Yoland’s feelings towards him. To assure himself 
of this, he commanded to be brought to him one 
of those peddler-women who go to the fairs and vil¬ 
lage festivals, selling pins, needles, little mirrors, 
ribbons, and other trifles of that sort. He gave her 
a considerable sum, commanding her to go quickly 
to Vienna and provide herself with all kinds of 
fancy goods and articles of taste and elegance which 
could be found in the Austrian capital. 

He could not have found one better for his pur¬ 
pose. This woman was a Morlaccian Bohemian, 
about thirty years old, quick and alert. Her long 
tresses of ebony-black hair fell over her shoulders ; 
her brown face was oval, her forehead high, her 
eyes were black and shone with a peculiar light, 
and when they fixed themselves piercingly on any 
one they embarrassed and bewildered him like 
the eyes of a basilisk. She was, besides, a thief by 
profession, and was so adroit at this trade that she 
would rob a man before he could perceive her. To 
this talent she added that of hypocrisy—the art of 
feigning virtue and piety. Her false modesty, her 
apparent humility, her reserved demeanor, gave her 
the air of a saint; but she was corrupt and malig¬ 
nant. With the peasants she passed for a fortune¬ 
teller, and skilfully deceived them ; whilst pretend- 


Ottocar de Brmm. 


83 


ing to read the poor people’s hands, to examine 
their lines, sinews, finger-joints, she would sudden¬ 
ly despoil them of their rings or earrings ; then the 
good souls would go looking for them in the fields 
or in their houses, thinking they had lost them, 
whilst these ornaments would pass into the pocket 
of the Bohemian, exchanged for the good money of 
the Jews. She especially succeeded in carrying off 
children in the cradle, profiting by the momentary 
absence of the mother or nurse, and, like a vulture 
pouncing on a dove, she would disappear with 
her prey, and sell in Transylvania the unfortunate 
infants whom she had stolen in Hungary; then she 
would make away in Westphalia, Franconia, or 
Lusatia with those whom she had carried off 
from Bohemia or Moravia. How many mothers had 
been plunged into grief by her cruelty! Twenty 
times the peasants were in pursuit of her, and 
twenty times she had slipped out of their hands 
like an adder in the brushwood. 

Swatiza (this was the Bohemian’s name) repaired 
to Vienna, where, with Ottocar’s money, she sup¬ 
plied herself with purses of blue figured velvet, 
ornamented with silk and gold embroidery, silver 
clasps, steel studs. She bought besides, bottles of 
perfume, gilt and enamelled vinaigrettes, belts with 
silver fringes covered with filigTee, with assorted 
buckles, carved, embossed, and engraved ; rings in 
links, twists,or serpents, withemeralds,onyx, rubies, 
and granate; earrings in every form—pears, almonds, 
roses, bells; silver thimbles, needle-cases, pin¬ 
cushions, chains and mirrors from Murano, neck- 


84 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


laces of jjolished coral, facets polished and unpo¬ 
lished, strings of red beads, tablets, balls of per¬ 
fume—in a word, the trickster had made ample 
provision of all those trifles which delight young 
girls. On her return to Brunn she presented her¬ 
self to Ottocar, who, under the seal of secrecy, 
opened his heart to her, and then said : 

My good Swatiza, if thou dost render me the 
service that I am about to ask, . . . thou shalt 
not find me ungrateful, be assured.” 

‘‘My lord,” replied the Bohemian, “ thou know- 
est well that I am happy to give pleasure to people 
when I can ; for, if I am poor, it is because I im¬ 
poverish myself in assisting my neighbor with my 
labor and with my purse.” 

“Truly? . . . Well, knowest thou, at the con¬ 
vent of the reverend lady Theotberga, a young lady 
named Yoland, from Znaim ?” 

“ Do I know her, askest thou, my lord ? Oh 1 
but I know her indeed. She is truly the most 
amiable of all the pupils. And then she is so good ! 
God guard her, the dear child ! . . . When T 

return from the fairs of Olmutz, Brunn, Hradisch, 
and Prostnitz, I always stop at the convent with my 
wares, and I am not left at the gate, I can tell thee ! 
. . . There are Sister Cunegonde, Sister Eri- 

bert, and Sister Galswinthe, who do not wish me 
ill; so, as soon as they see me coming, they cry : 
‘x\h ! Swatiza, what fine things hast thou ? Hast 
any Agnus Dei ? Hast thou reliquaries in the shape 
of a heart ? Show us all those.’ And thereupon 
I show them. . . . Thou shouldst see I . . . 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


85 


As soon as I open my box I kneel down, I cover 
my hand with a linen cloth, saying : ‘ It is not for 
me, a sinner, to touch these holy things. . . / And 
the good Sisters kiss them all very devoutly ; then, 
as I do not sell these holy things, they give me in 
exchange alms, which I pocket willingly. 0 the 
good souls! . . 

^^Well, well. . . . And Yoland—dost thou 

ever see her ? ’’ 

Oh ! yes, my lord, because Sister Cunegonde 
often brings me to the field where the young ladies 
take their recreation after breakfast. There I see 
Yoland—a child who has money, I can tell thee, 
and good taste in the bargain. I have no sooner 
shown my wares than the rogue seizes on the best 
I have, and keeps them, no matter what price I 
may ask. The last time I went there I sold her a 
purse of double crimson velvet, all gilt and span¬ 
gles, for which she paid me a fine gold crown.’’ 

If that be the case,” replied the young tyrant 
of Brunn, thou shalt repair to the convent and 
seek to converse with Yoland alone. Thou wilt let 
her choose all that she desires, and thou wilt tell 
her that Lord Ottocar, Marquis of Brunn, begs 
her to accept them in exchange for the rose. Thou 
wilt tell her everything good of me; thou wilt in¬ 
form her of my desire to marry her. If she answers 
thee that she is of too low extraction to aspire to 
the rank of a marchioness, ask to see her hand, and 
assure her, on the contrary, that she is of royal 
blood. Canst thou not discover by certain signs 
the lineage of an individual ? ” 


86 


Ottocar de Brujin. 


“ Oil! trust me for knowing all such things as 
that/’ said the impostor, who profited by the occa¬ 
sion to make a dupe. Give me thy hand. Seest 
thou these three lines on the third joint of thy little 
finger ? They indicate that thy mother descends 
in direct line from Otho the Great, and that, con¬ 
sequently, the imperial blood flows in thy veins.” 

By my beard ! thou sayest true. And how 
knowest thou that ? What sighs hast thou ?” 

The signs which my dread and mysterious art 
makes known to me. I will tell thee more still, 
. . . that the half-circle of white which sur¬ 

rounds the root of your thumb-nail clearly reveals 
to me that some drops of the blood of Charlemagne 
flow in your heart.” 

Through this jugglery of the Bohemian Ottocar 
was filled with hope. He no longer doubted that he 
should know the mystery of Yoland’s birth, and he 
held it as just as certain as that he had beneath 
his eyes the genealogical tree of his family, signed 
by the notary of the crown and sealed by the golden 
seal. Passion is blind and leads men to blind them¬ 
selves. Ottocar, that proud and haughty lord, 
placed his interests in such a delicate matter in the 
hands of a miserable creature who made sport of him 
and led him to believe the most gross impostures. 
He did not see that he was playing a perfidious and 
disloyal part—a part which would draw down the 
anger of his father, the displeasure of his vassals, 
the vengeance of the Duke of Moravia, his father- 
in-law, to whom he was doing a mortal injury in 
refusing the hand of his daughter, to whom he had 


Ottocar de Brunn. 


87 


been betrothed. None of these considerations 
stopped him, and turning to the Bohemian, 
‘^G-o,” said he—‘^go, and bring me a favorable 
answer ; and all will be well. But, if thy life is 
dear to thee, guard thy tongue, that notliing of all 
this may escape thee, or, I swear by the blade of 
my sword I shall kill thee with my own hand !” 



CHAPTER V. 

THE NOCTURNAL VOICE. 

On receipt of the Abbess’s letter, Pandolph at 
once understood that at all hazards he must fly 
from the advances of Ottocar, whom he knew to be 
a daring, headstrong, and determined young man, 
who would be enraged at any obstacles which would 
obstruct his way. Yoland was in a place which 
was within his jurisdiction. The religious could 
only oppose violence with their tears, prayers, and 
lamentations. The Marquis’s guard were coarse 
and cruel men, the remnants of those barbarians 
whom the Emperor Henry I. had defeated in a hun¬ 
dred contests, and who had a hundred times re¬ 
turned in new hordes of mercenaries which were 
the plague of Upper Germany, and sold themselves 
to the highest bidder. These wretches added to 
the fierceness of the bear the cunning of the fox 
and the rapacity of the wolf; they neither respected 
the holiness of a place, nor the weakness of a young 
girl, nor the gray hairs of an old man. They were 
Christians only in so far that they were baptized; 
for the rest, they were avaricious by nature, dis¬ 
honest by inclination, and restless and wandering by 
taste. 


88 




The Nocturnal Voice. 89 

Pandolph said to himself that if Ottocar wished 
to possess himself of Yoland nothing would be 
easier. A troop of these yultures would effect this 
as easily as the hawk tears the dove from its 
mothers bosom. What should he do ? From 
whom ask aid and protection ? From the Mar¬ 
quis’s own father ? That would be running a great 
risk; and if the going there was dangerous, the 
return would be still more so, on account of the 
ambushes which the minions of Ottocar would lay 
for him, and into which he must necessarily fall. 
Have recourse to the Duke of Moravia, to the father 
of Gisela—Grisela, so dishonorably forsaken ? Would 
that not be to cause discord between the two states, 
perhaps enkindle war, and thus put poor Yoland’s 
life in danger ?—for there would be no hesitation in 
sacrificing her to settle the dispute. What seemed 
the most feasible and the wisest was to snatch the 
victim from the lion’s claws, and conceal her in a 
place where the infatuated young man could not 
discover her. 

One evening, at sunset, a traveller was crossing 
the Igla over a wooden bridge. The features of 
the knight were concealed under the double shelter 
of a helmet and hood. His breastplate and neck¬ 
piece were of burnished steel i his coat-of-arms, of 
dark green, was fastened to a broad shoulder-belt 
which supported a Moorish scimeter, whilst the belt 
upheld a triangular rapier ; the thighs and legs were 
covered with polished steel, and the teet encased in 
iron. A sharp lance glistened in one of his hands, 
both of which were protected by iron gauntlets. 


90 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


This man, thus armed, had no sooner crossed the 
river than he urged his horse forward anxiously, 
taking care, however, to keep the middle of the 
road, as if he feared some surprise. It was almost 
night when he came on a path which lost itself in 
the forest; therefore his anxiety seemed to be re¬ 
doubled. He spurred his horse with renewed 
energy, and, not content with casting piercing 
glances to the right and left, he often turned round 
to see if he were not pursued. 

A dense darkness soon spread over the woods, 
where the light was very dim even in daytime. 
The horseman slackened his pace and advanced 
with great precaution, feeling the path with his 
lance to remove all obstacles. The moon, now in 
its decline, was only rising; still, its feeble light 
forced a passage here and there through the foliage, 
and momentarily lit up the windings of the road. 
At length he suddenly arrived at a clearing v/here 
the moonlight, falling perpendicularly, brightened 
one part of the wood with a strong light, leaving 
the other in the deepest darkness. 

The knight paused a moment, raised his visor, 
and took breath. The place where he stood was of 
oval form, carpeted with a fine, close grass. It was 
surrounded on all sides by tall firs, whose long, 
tufted branches joined and interlaced themselves, 
forming a thick curtain, from which hung the cones 
and the green and bristling tufts which are both 
the leaves and fruits of this tree. 

In the centre of the space stood three ancient 
beecli-trees, whose immense branches extended in 


The Nocturjial Voice^ 


91 


all directions. The shadow which they cast on the 
side opposite the moon resembled the body of a 
terrible giant lying on the ground. The wild and 
gloomy surroundings, the silence of night, the dark¬ 
ness of tlie woods, the mournful cry of the owl, the 
low murmur of a distant cascade, all united to fill 
the soul of the traveller with an uneasiness which 
was almost terror. 

He was about to lower his visor and proceed on 
his way, and had already taken up the reins of his 
steed, when a deep voice, coming from the depths 
of the forest, exclaimed : 

‘^Back, Pandolph, back! Turn thy horse and 
resume the road by which thou earnest. To ad¬ 
vance is death I Ottocar, foreseeing that thou 
wouldst doubtless proceed to the convent to bear 
thence thy daughter, has laid ambuscades for thee 
at the spot where thou leavest the woods. His 
minions await thee, and thou canst not escape them; 
for there are many of these ruthless soldiers. Be- 
ware that thou pass not again the bridge of Igla ; 
but higher up the stream thou shalt find a ford, if 
the water be low. As soon as thou hast reached 
Znaim, hasten to the Abbot Daufer ; he will tell 
thee what thou must do. Leave Yoland to the 
care of G-od, the Abbess, and of him wlio gives thee 
this warning. And now depart; T will no longer 
detain thee.’’ 

The horseman was, as you have already guessed, 
none other than Count Pandolph of G-roningen, who 
was secretly proceeding to the convent where his 
daughter was placed, to withdraw her from it, if 


92 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


possible, before Ottocar should attempt to obtain 
possession of her by violence. To depict the aston¬ 
ishment of Pandolph at these peremptory com¬ 
mands from a rude but honest voice which made 
the forest ring, is no easy matter. At first he stop¬ 
ped short, then grasped his lance and held it in 
rest, his ear and his whole being growing more 
attentive. He sought to discover in the midst of the 
darkness if he could perceive the person who thus 
imperiously addressed him, and whilst the voice 
became louder he felt his heart beat faster. The 
cluster of beech-trees especially attracted his atten¬ 
tion ; for the words seemed to come from there. 
Once he thought he saw a white figure moving 
around him, gradually grow larger, then suddenly 
diminishing and disappearing in the forest; but he 
soon discovered that it was only an effect of the 
moonlight playing among the branches, now stirred 
by the night-breeze. However, the Count recovered 
from, his surprise, and raising his voice in his tarn, 
‘^Halloo !” cried he, ‘^wdio art thou that speakest 
so kindly to me ? ” All was silent. He advanced 
his horse towards the cluster of beeches, tried their 
foliage with the point of his lance—it concealed no 
one. He went all round the clearing; the forest 
which enclosed it betrayed not the presence of any 
one, and he heard not a whisper nor footstep. 
He reflected an instant, then, settling himself firmly 
in his stirrups, he took the road by the river, mus¬ 
ing on the adventure and asking himself whence 
such advice could come. He said to himself that, 
knowing the Marquis’s plans, the reverend Mother 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


93 


Abbess bad probably ordered some servant of the 
monastery to come to meet him and make known 
the snares which were laid for him. Still, that 
voice, coming from an invisible mouth, seemed 
rather that of some soul in pain, wandering through 
the forest, and raised by divine Providence to save 
him. Had not his good angel, whom he had so 
piously invoked on entering the forest, taken this 
means that he might escape death ? In these 
thoughts he journeyed on, and soon came out of 
the dark woods, advancing cautiously, as if he 
feared a sudden attack. 

He had at length reached the banks of the Igla, 
and was proceeding along beside it for about an ar¬ 
row-shot, when he saw coming from behind a cluster 
of willows two men armed with spears, who threw 
themselves upon him, crying • Yield thyself, dog, 
or thou art a dead man ! ” 

Pandolph, expecting a surprise, was on his guard.' 
He made such a vigorous thrust with his lance at 
the first of his assailants that it pierced his left 
side and stretched him dead on the bank; then urg¬ 
ing his horse towards the second and seizing his 
Bcimeter, he was about to cut off his head when the 
bandit leaped to one side and sought to bury his 
weapon where there was a break in Pandolph’s ar¬ 
mor. But the latter turned it aside by a move¬ 
ment of his horse, and it was the noble beast that 
suffered, the weapon grazed his haunches ; but the 
assassin was off his guard, and as he was hastening 
to deal another blow the Count pierced him be¬ 
tween the neck and shoulder. He saw him totter. 


94 


The Nocturnal Voice, 


Putting spurs to his horse, he drove his steed into 
the river, forded it, and reached the other bank 
without difiScnlty. 

Having escaped that danger, Pandolph journeyed 
all night, and towards daybreak he found himself 
quite near the convent over which the Lord Abbot 
Baufer presided. In those unhappy times the abbeys 
were the surest asylums for the unfortunate, for 
those who sought to escape the pursuit of 
tyrants, for those tired of an adventurous life, 
disgusted with the vanities of the world and the 
illusiveness of fortune. There they found rest, 
peace, justice, a sure refuge, salutary counsels, help 
and protection, liberty and security. In those sa¬ 
cred and venerated sanctuaries, the unhappy found 
consolation, the poor bread, the husbandman a 
shelter, tools, and seeds. Within its walls the 
choir chanted, night and day, the praises of God ; 
the cells were filled with manuscripts, which were 
scientific treasures; the workshops brought forth 
the arts and the trades which are necessary to the 
wants and luxuries of life. It is to the monks alone 
that we owe the surest and most refined principles 
of the manual arts, such as the working in gold, mo¬ 
saic, inlaying, and carving; their gardens abound¬ 
ed in medicinal herbs, their dispensaries contained 
balms, antidotes, and the most useful potions and 
remedies. Some amongst the religious practised 
surgery and were acquainted with medicine ; and 
if there had not been monasteries at that period, 
man would have died without the help of man or 
the consolations of religion. To the monks of the 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


95 


Middle Ages we even owe the improvement in the 
equine and bovine races, the art of raising flocks, 
swarms of bees, and working in wool and wax. 

In a word, the monasteries were the flowering 
oases rising here and there to brighten the arid 
wastes and burning deserts of Western barbarism. 
If a convent arose on the banks of a river, there was 
soon seen beside it a bridge for the accommodation 
of travellers, and a grain-mill, and a path led the 
people to the church. Was it beside a lake, a boat 
was very soon placed there to carry people or ani¬ 
mals from one bank to the other; or skiffs to bear 
the fishermen, who soon, bringing thither their 
huts, scattered here and there, gradually formed 
villages and hamlets. If the convent were sur¬ 
rounded by swamps, bogs, or marshy land, the 
monks dug spacious canals for the passage of the 
stagnant w^ater; they filled up ravines, they smoothed 
hills, gave a slope to the meadows, and by these 
long and painful labors they changed to wholesome 
ground immense tracts of dry or marshy land ; they 
dug up the earth and prepared a fertile and virgin 
soil for the culture of the crops, the scarcity of 
which was often at this period so disastrous to 
towns and cities. They thus purified the bad air, 
peopled the solitudes, and opened roads of com¬ 
munication between different nations. The world, 
which to-day regards the monks as useless people, 
the parasites of society, forgets that it is to them 
it owes that civilization of which it is so proud. 
And we ourselves, we Italians, who name our coun¬ 
try the garden of Europe, and who justly admire 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


96 

the fertile plains of Lombardy, of Venetia, and the 
southern provinces, overlook the fact that the coun¬ 
tries which are now the richest and most fertile 
were once swamps or forests which were dried up 
or hewed down by the monks. But human nature 
is forgetful, ungrateful, and cowardly ; it insults 
the lion which has grown old ; a time will come, 
however, when God, the just dispenser, shall ren¬ 
der to every man according to his works.* 

The mysterious voice had commanded Pandolph 
to repair to the holy and powerful Abbot Daufer ; 
he obeyed ; and all the time asking himself how the 
Abbot could be aware of his plan for the removal 
of his daughter, he arrived in front of the lofty 
walls which surrounded the monastery. In those 
days of continual warfare, even the places conse¬ 
crated to religion in Germany were defended by 
thick walls, fortified by towers, battlements, bul¬ 
warks, and turrets, to protect persons and property 
from the ever-recurring incursions of the Hunga¬ 
rians, Eussians, Prussians, and other barbarous 
tribes from the depths of Sarmatia. We still see 
the remains of these formidable means of defence 
in some parts of Italy; for instance, at Nonantola, 

* Those who wish to assure themselves of the truth of these 
assertions have only to read the “Dissertations” of Muratori and 
many other historians of those times. They can see in what 
condition were Lombardy and Venetia in the ninth, tenth, and 
eleventh centuries, and compare the swamps and forests of 
that day with the lands of the present, cultivated by the 
monks—^those lands which were seized in 1810 and sold to Jews, 
to usurers, and to foreigners, and that to the great disadvan¬ 
tage of the poor of those countries, hundreds of whom every 
day found bread at the gates of the convents. 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


97 


Monte Cassino, Saint Zeno, at Verona, at the Vat¬ 
ican, and at Saint Sabino, on the Mount Aventine, 
at Rome. 

Randolph found the drawbridge still raised ; for 
they only lowered it at the dawn of day. He was 
therefore obliged to wait * so, alighting from his 
horse, he retired some distance from the fortifica¬ 
tions, behind a cluster of green oaks, till the open¬ 
ing of the gates and the lowering of the drawbridge. 
He was scarcely seated when he heard the tramp¬ 
ling of horses beside the moat, and, having parted 
the foliage, he perceived a small troop of soldiers 
belonging to the monastery, whom he supposed 
were a patrol returning from their nightly rounds 
outside the walls for the safety of the convent, 
within and without. When this troop had reached 
the head of the drawbridge, they stopped. The sol¬ 
diers raised their visors, wiped off the dust with 
which they were covered, blew a blast on the horn, 
and made signs to the warders who had appeared 
on the summit of the tower at the first signal. 
Meanwhile, one of the soldiers, a man of gigantic 
frame, with bristling mustaches, said, turning to 
one of his comrades ; 

Halloo ! Porcupine, thy shoulder-piece is cover¬ 
ed with blood. Hathless, last nighPs robber must 
have given thee a tough blow. ” 

And seest thou thine own helmet ? One would 
say that he who gave thee so sturdy a thrust would 
fain have split thy pate to the very beard.’’ 

Ay, marry ! . . . And I dealt him betwixt 

the arm and the wrist so stout a stroke that the 


98 


The Nocturnal Voice, 


knave is out of the way of doing harm to any one. 
By my word ! his hand hung only by a shred of flesh. 
I’faith ! it is no joking with Sans Quartier. It fares 
ill with those who would meddle with him.’’ 

Prithee, tell me,” cried Iron Arm, ‘^what, in 
the fiend’s name, possessed the Marquis Ottocar 
last night with his ambuscades of knaves ? The 
rascals ! they would pounce, I warrant me, on some 
poor devil of a traveller. But it fared badly with 
them, and, by my faith, they got their fill. Of the 
four who met us first near the pillars of St. Boni¬ 
face, not one, I dare be sworn, w'ent back to Brnnn 
to bear the tidings to the Marquis.” 

And the five bearded knaves who lay in wait 
beside the cross-road in the forest,” said the Ter¬ 
rible, ‘^had their time and pains for naught. I split 
one of their skulls with my battle-axe, in such 
fashion that his brains flew all around. I cut otf 
another’s cheek and a piece of his jaw, so that he 
spit out all his teeth, which were, in truth, like the 
tusks of an old boar.” 

And did not I,” said the Bear, by a clean stroke 
pierce the heart of him that threatened Sans Quar- 
tier with his axe ? And did not Porcupine right 
bravely thrust his knife into the stomach of him 
who made a thrust with his spear at Rouge ? ” 

Aye,” said Rouge, and didst mark the two 
rascals stretched beside the Igla. One had already 
kicked the bucket, and his comrade never ceased 
whimpering because of a paltry little scratch be¬ 
tween the neck and shoulder ; on my word, he cried 
for mercy, stretching his hands out to me—the 


The Nocturnal Voice, 


99 


cowardly slave—^but I dealt him a blow in the stom¬ 
ach with my halberd, and sent him to join the other. 
These bullies had, I doubt me not, fallen upon 
some passing knight, and, by way of pastime, sought 
to wring his neck ; but in place of catching, that 
time they were caught. They j)aused, it may be, at 
the head of the bridge, till he had followed the 
path through the woods, and met him on the 
river bank. I think not, however, that it was 
any of our men, because Camerlingue sent out 
no others but us to scour the country during the 
night. ’’ 

While listening to this fearful discourse, Pan- 
dolph thanked God that he had escaped so many 
perils. Then, too, he became more and more lost 
in conjecture as to the mysterious voice in the 
forest, and the perfect knowledge which the Abbot 
seemed to have had of Ottocar’s infamous designs, 
of his own visit to the Abbess Theotberga ; and the 
more he reflected, the more he thought himself the 
sport of a dream. Meanwhile, awaiting till the 
warder should come down to lower the bridge, the 
soldiers continued polishing their harnesses and 
conversing. 

Oddshearts ! ’’ said one of them, ^^this morning 
breeze gives me appetite enough to eat the Father 
Cellarer without sauce.” 

r faith ! ” continued another, that would not 
be so bad; . . . the Father Cellarer is fat. But 

as for me, I trust myself into the good graces of 
Brother Colomban. He keeps the keys of the lar¬ 
der, and can bestow rashers of bacon and slices of 


lOO 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


smoked meat. . . . My mouth waters when I 

think of it. Thou shouldst see the cutlets and 
legs of roast mutton which will be put on our 
trenchers ! ” 

And which thou wilt attack right heartily, com¬ 
rade ! But what of that, if Brother Candidas, the 
butler, tap us not some jugs of beer ? ’’ 

And fills them up again ! With two cups of 
wine in my stomach, I would leap like a leopard 
over a score of Bohemian pikemen. If Camerlingue 
would put me on guard every night, I object not, 
provided he first gives me into the hands of Brother 
Candidas ; I would become a knight-errant, and, 
if he would just add to that a glass of brandy, I 
would attack an elephant.” 

Whilst they discussed thus the warder had come 
down; he opened the gate, covered the draw¬ 
bridge, and all the soldiers entered the first 
enclosure, two by two; then the gate closed, 
the drawbridge was raised, for the sun had 
not yet reached the horizon. The men repaired 
to their quarters; there they laid down their 
arms, hung up their breast-plates on the wall, and, 
without removing their helmets, they entered 
the refectory reserved for guests. There they loudly 
called for Brother Colomban. 

‘‘Well, well, my lambs,” said he, coming in, 
“ hath any of ye need of a leech’s skill ? How many 
of those knaves did ye lay low last night—did ye 
cut down ? I wot me ye found it was not work 
like plucking chickens nor smoking hams. Ah! 
where is thy shoulder-piece, Sans Quartier ? And 


The Nocturnal Voice, loi 

thou, Porcupine, what has befallen thy helmet ? 
There must have been hot worh/’ 

By my faith, we dealt them many a blow, and 
in good measure too, I warrant thee. Dost see. 
Brother Colomban, when the Abbot Daufer’s men- 
at-arms unfurled the banner with the Convent 
colors the banditti of Brunn felt that their hour 
was come. They bullied somewhat at first, but 
our lances soon made them change their tune.” 

While these men were eating in the refectory of 
the monastery, Pandolph, seeing that the gate was 
closed again, stretched himself on the grass, and, 
fatigued by his night’s journey^ he fell asleep. He 
was awakened by the noise of trumpets sounding 
close beside him, at the convent walls: he was on 
his feet in an instant. Two horsemen were blow¬ 
ing with all their might on those instruments ; 
they were followed by four men-at-arms equally 
well mounted, and carrying bare swords; behind 
them came two hooded monks, riding on white 
mules covered -with scarlet cloth. At some dis¬ 
tance there marched a dozen men, with helmets 
on their heads, scythes in their hands, and these 
were preceded by two heralds-at-arms, in rich 
hauberks embossed in gold, with glittering 
helmets, and shields emblazoned with the arms 
of the Abbot Daufer, which bore an azure 
lion rampant in a field of silver, with a mitre for a 
crest, surmounted by a sword and a pastoral staff. 
They carried on their shoulders two axes with 
silver nails, attached to their arms by chains of the 
same metal. 


102 


The Nocturnal Voice, 


Last came the Abbot Daufer himself between 
two knights bearing long swords, which were al ways 
wielded with both hands. He rode on a magnifi¬ 
cent snow-white palfrey, with a head-piece of 
carved silver, surmounted by three waving plumes ; 
the reinsand the bit were of gold ; the harness and 
caparisons fringed with gold and crimson silk ; the 
knot of the crupper was a costly topaz. What 
could be seen of the saddle was of red velvet em¬ 
broidered in gold and strewn with precious stones, 
while the steed was almost hidden under a long 
saddle-cloth of taffeta, with pieces of celestial blue 
laid on. Stirrups of silver, with stirrup-straps of 
velvet, completed this costly equipage. The Abbot 
himself was simply clad in an ample white hooded 
cloak over his religious habit. In the rear came 
four men on foot leading as many horses loaded 
with dishes, with mattresses and quilts, and all the 
other articles necessary on a journey—for, in those 
times, every traveller had to carry with him all that 
he required, for inns were rare—and, last of all, a 
strong troop of halberdiers formed the rear-guard 
of the retinue. 

As soon as the warder heard the sound of the 
trumpet, he hastened to open the gate. The horse¬ 
men formed a line on either side of the bridge; 
the Lord Abbot passed between them, giving them 
his blessing ; then, having reached the inner court, 
he quickly alighted from his horse, assisted by the 
two heralds-at-arms, of whom one held the bridle, 
the other the stirrup. Meanwhile, Pandolph, who 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


103 

had been witness of this scene, was more curious 
than ever to sound the mystery. 

‘^So, then,’’ said he to himself, ‘‘the Abbot was 
out of the monastery ; he has ridden all night, ac¬ 
companied by a strong escort. A serious and unfore¬ 
seen cause must have forced him to this mysterious 
and nocturnal journey. The voice in the forest 
commanded me to repair to this prelate, adding 
that I would receive from him help, advice, and 
protection. His people have watched and recon¬ 
noitred all night. How could he know that Ottocar 
had laid snares for me ? Where was he all night ? 
Which way did he go ? How it bewilders me ! ” 

Thus thinking, Pandolph remounted his horse, 
and, crossing the bridge, presented himself at the 
great door, asking for the Lord Abbot. 

“He is very tired,” answered the porter, “hav¬ 
ing just come in. He went out yesterday evening 
at sunset, and has only returned a quarter of an 
hour since ; it were scarce courteous to disturb him 
before he hath taken a little repose. Come rather 
with me to the Father Cellarer. Thou canst rest 
and refresh thyself somewhat, for thou seemest 
equally tired.” 

So saying, he made the traveller enter, while the 
two grooms who had assisted him to dismount at 
once led away his horse in the direction of the sta¬ 
bles. The Cellarer received Pandolph in a frank 
and cordial manner. 

“ Thou art welcome. Sir Knight,” said he, “and 
may God guard thee. It would seem thou art still 
fasting; some food will revive thee.” 


104 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


And he brought him to the guest-chamber, 
where a shank of venison, some white bread, and a 
jug of beer refreshed him. 

If he had lived in our own days, Pandolph would 
have made a plentiful breakfast on some slices of 
toasted bread and a cup of coffee, because the deli¬ 
cate stomachs of our time could not receive any 
more, for fear of indigestion ; but the men of old 
required something substantial, and, after having 
breakfasted heartily, could play their part well 
again at dinner. That meal, composed of strong 
meats and rich pastries, washed down with gene¬ 
rous wines, did not at all interfere with their sup¬ 
per. Truly, these Teuton stomachs—God give them 
joy of them !—still possess, even in our own day, this 
faculty which might digest iron. We see some who, 
after a hearty dinner, still find a little empty cor¬ 
ner for a plentiful supper; but in our southern 
countries a light repast is followed by a still 
lighter collation, and yet many pass an indifferent 
night, rhubarb and scammony being required to 
keep this poor nineteenth-century stomach in 
order. 

After having refreshed himself, Pandolph asked 
the Cellarer if the hour were convenient for him to 
see the Lord Abbot; for he desired to converse with 
him. The monk readily replied : 

‘^To tell the truth, the reverend Father has just 
come into the monastery and has retired to his cell 
to change his travelling-dress; but he told me as he 
passed that if by chance a knight named Pandolph 
came here, I was to inform him at once after the 


The Nocturnal Voice, 105 

Community Mass, and bring the traveller to 
him.” 

am that knight,” said Pandolph, ‘^and I 
would be grateful to thee if thou wouldst bring me 
to his Reverence as soon as thou dost think proper. 
But he has just come in, thou sayest, and as he 
is already advanced in years, why, instead of assist¬ 
ing at Mass, does he not take a little rest in his 
cell ?” 

“ Oh ! the reverend Father would not miss Mass 
for anything in the world. At the night office he is 
always the first in his stall; and during the 
winter, which is so severe in this climate, he be¬ 
comes so weak from the austerities which he prac¬ 
tises that he is often obliged to be assisted to his 
cell by two lay-brothers, who take him by each 
arm. There is no danger of his ever being absent 
from the community exercises; and during the 
thirty years which he has been Abbot no one has 
ever seen him dispense himself from Matins when 
he is in the convent. Yesterday, I know not why, 
he set out after Compline, and journeyed all night. 
Some important affair must have forced him to go 
out so late. It must be, I warrant, some great act 
of charity, the saving of some one in great danger; 
for, in such circumstances, this man of God forgets 
the weight of years, the inclemency of the season, 
the fatigue of travelling ; he would brave the cruelty 
of a tyrant, the strength of a whole army. I 
sought, through curiosity, to know from the 
soldiers of the guard where they went in such haste 
last night; they answered that after having crossed 


io6 The Nocturnal Voice. 

the river Igla he gave the order to halt and remain 
in their ranks in j)erfect silence ; then, with two of 
our brothers, he went towards Kuruma. I ques¬ 
tioned these two brothers, but they had been com¬ 
manded by the Abbot, in virtue of their holy obedi¬ 
ence, to tell no one whither he had led them ; be¬ 
sides, if they wished to tell they could not, for on 
reaching this mysterious place the Lord Abbot left 
them, to converse with some one who could not be 
seen, but whose voice could be distinguished 
through the darkness of night.” 

Pandolph listened to all these details with great 
attention, and, as his repast was finished, he fol¬ 
lowed the Cellarer to the room appointed for him 
in the guest-house. The Father then left him, 
saying that he would come for him after Tierce. 

The guest-house was a large building which had 
been erected outside the cloister. It was divided 
into two parts, one of which was reserved ex¬ 
clusively for men, the other entirely for women. 
The latter was subdivided into lodgings for married 
people and their children. The ground-floor was 
used for stables, coach-houses, and store-houses. 
These latter were immense rooms, arched and well 
aired, where provisions of all kinds abounded— 
dried and smoked meats, cheese, fruits, salt and 
pickled fish. Under the cloister arches were the 
kitchens, dispensaries, cellars, and refectories; be¬ 
hind the kitchens furnaces and immense tubs offered 
to tired or frozen travellers the refreshment and 
powerful remedy of a hot bath. On the outer court of 
the convent opened the windows of the pharmacy 


The Nocturnal Voice. 


107 


and the laboratories, furnished with alembics, mor¬ 
tars, balms, all kinds of apparatus, and every species 
of remedy. Every day there came to the monastery 
two or three hundred poor persons to be fed. As for 
the guest-house, it was always full of travellers; the 
public inns were so bad that they had to ask hos¬ 
pitality at the convents. 

On each side of the long corridor were numberless 
doors, which gave access to the rooms reserved for 
travellers. Led by his guide, Pandolph stopped at 
the door of No. 10, to which he found the servants 
of the convent had already brought his trunk, 
helmet, breast-plate, and lance, as well as the har¬ 
ness of his horse. 



CHAPTEE VL 

THE LOKD ABBOT DAUFEE. 

As soon as the Mass was over and the office of 
Tierce ended, the Cellarer came to seek Pandolph, 
whom he found seated on a chest at the foot of 
his bed, deep in thought. The Count arose and 
silently followed the monk, who brought him to 
the Abbot’s apartments, where he left him. Pan¬ 
dolph saw several rooms, all richly furnished for 
that unrefined period. The walls of the first were 
covered with pictures rudely painted, illustrating 
various events in the life of Saint Benedict. The 
figures were long and thin, without any genius in 
coloring or design ; under each of them some verses 
in barbarous rhyme told the name of the saint it re¬ 
presented. Saint Benedict, still young, is seen with¬ 
in his cave, where a basket is bringing him food; i hen 
the monks of Saint Como offering him poisoned 
wine, and the cup breaking into fragments when the 
saint blessed it; further on. Saint Placidus, having 
fallen into the lake, is being drawn out by Saint 
Maur, who comes to him walking on the water and 
seizes him by the hair. 

The second hall was ornamented with scenes 

from the life of Gregory the Great: the holy Pon¬ 
ies 




The Lord Abbot Datifer, 109 

tiff is seen sending the monk Austin to convert the 
English; these new Christians produced in their 
turn Saint Boniface, apostle of Bavaria; Saint 
Wilfrid, apostle of the Saxons; Saint Ludger, of 
the Frieslanders ; Saint Euinbert, who brought the 
light of the Gospel into Denmark and Norway; 
Saint Gerard, who baptized the Hungarians and 
Bohemians. The other rooms further on were hung 
with Cordovan leather, red or blue, dressed or un¬ 
dressed, plain or worked, with gold, silver, or 
painted flowers. The ceilings and beams, rafters 
and mouldings, painted or gilded, were decorated 
with heads of saints, roses, or shields. The plain, 
solid furniture was, for the most part, of walnut, 
richly and heavily carved, and ornamented with 
copper and gold ; the chairs with twisted legs, and 
the sofas with high arms and backs, offered to the 
eye grimacing faces and fantastic heads of animals. 
The massive tables were bending under the weight 
of vases and cups of colored glass, articles in ivory 
and wood inlaid with shells and mother-of-pearl. 
The floors were made of various foreign woods, and 
beneath the feet stretched a cai*pet of bear, wolf, 
fox, lynx, or deer skin. 

Pandolph was regarding with surprise this 
luxury and elegance, which for that epoch was 
truly regal, when suddenly a side door opened, and 
the Abbot himseK came towards him in an affec¬ 
tionate manner. 

Welcome,” said he, taking his hand; "‘the 
Count of Groningen is welcome, in the name of 
Jesus Christ.” 


no 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 


It is impossible to paint the astonishment of 
Pandolph on hearing himself called by his name 
and title—he, who had thought himself entirely un¬ 
known in Moravia, to be thus named by the Ab¬ 
bot ! . . , He recovered himself, however, and 

courteously kissed the hand of the holy old man, 
who at once led him into the most distant apart¬ 
ment, which he used for a bedroom. But how 
different this was from all tlie other rooms ! The 
bed, formed of a few boards roughly put together, 
was covered by an humble sheep-skin ; a little wal¬ 
nut writing-table and two stools composed the 
furniture. If, in the preceding halls, the windows 
were resplendent with magnificent stained and 
painted glass, here the light only found access 
through a small window covered with coarse linen. 
A crucifix, a statue of the Blessed Virgin, and a 
skull stood on a shelf. Everything in the place 
breathed penance and poverty. 

'‘Be pleased to sit down, Lord Count,” said the 
monk, " and pardon me for having received thee in 
a place so unworthy of thy birth and title. The 
high and mighty princes of the world do not usually 
come hither; but thou, though of royal lineage, 
art suffering, I know, for the Church cf Christ, for 
having remained faithful to the Just and holy rights 
of the Vicar of Christ; wherefore thou wilt not* dis¬ 
dain to be seated in this poor cell with a servant of 
G-od. Alas ! it is the pride and ignorance of people 
of the world which force the abbots to display all 
this magnificence ; because, in our day, when right 
rests on strength instead of on reason, poverty. 


Ill 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 

meekness, and Christian humility are despised and 
trodden under foot. The great possessions of the 
Church make us the princes of rich and magnifi¬ 
cent lands, the fruits of which are devoted to the 
worship of God and the support of the poor; and 
yet secular princes despise us, and, if we be not 
watchful, they would invade us from avarice, and 
reduce our beloved vassals to servitude; and hence 
must we endeavor to appear powerful, to have for¬ 
tified walls around our monasteries and soldiers at 
our command—not to carry war outside, but to de¬ 
fend the rights of God, our persons, and the patri¬ 
mony of widows and orphans, the food of the poor 
and the sick, the peace and safety of all the faith¬ 
ful. It is in the splendid halls through which thou 
hast passed that I usually receive the barons and 
great vassals whose fiefs are raised on this monas¬ 
tery ; but my own dwelling-place is in my cell, 
where I weep over my sins and the painful trials 
of the holy Church through the covetousness and 
avarice of the great. Some years since, when I was 
presiding at the councils and debates held in the 
hall, from the throne of the Abbey, and as the 
thought occurred to me that at that very time 
Alexander, the lawful and only Pope, was flying 
from the fury of the anti-Pope Cadolaus, oh ! be¬ 
lieve me. Lord Count, I blushed on seeing myself 
surrounded by splendor, whilst the Vicar of Christ, 
a prey to misery, was seeking a shelter far from 
the Vatican. Now it is the impious Gilbert of 
Ravenna who endeavors to snatch the tiara from 
Gregory, and is waging bloody war upon him. I 


112 The Lord Ahhot Daufer. 

remind tliee of these facts intentionally ; but tbou 
art too, as I know, under the ban of the Empire, 
and the states which thou boldest from thine an¬ 
cestors are in the hands of rebels who are perse¬ 
cuting the Church. But be sure that thou lose not 
courage. Kemember that the Lord never permits 
man to be tried beyond his strength ; he giveth to 
the afflicted the virtue necessary to sustain adver¬ 
sity nobly, and even make of it a consolation and 
an immortal crown of glory. 

Thou hast, besides, as I am also aware, another 
contest to sustain—a contest harder and more pain¬ 
ful to thy heart than the loss of thy Count’s coro¬ 
nal. I would speak of the dangers which threaten 
thy Yoland. I know that the Marquis has sworn 
thy death because thou hast refused him the hand 
of thy daughter in an indirect manner. However, 
if the Lord protects us, not a hair of thy head can 
fall, and Yoland shall escape her persecutor. Provi¬ 
dence destines a worthier alliance for her. Znaim, 
I admit, is not on the lands of the Marquis of 
Brunn, but it is too near, and thou mightest fall a 
victim to some treachery. Thou must at once de¬ 
part for Boleslau, where is the celebrated sanctuary 
of Our Lady of Help, and thou wilt bring with thee 
thy faithful and virtuous Adeltrude. 

have there some powerful and generous 
friends, and thy residence in that country shall not 
be disturbed. I will give thee an escort as far as 
Budweiss, and my people shall precede thee the 
night previous, to remove all dangers from thy 
path. To-morrow, at dawn, thou shalt commence 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 113 

thy journey; and as thou hast need of money, here 
is a purse of gold, and another is held in reserve for 
thy future wants/’ 

Pandolph seized the hand of the venerable Ab¬ 
bot, and, in the outpouring of his heart, covered 
it with kisses and tears, thus expressing, better 
than by words, the gratitude with which he was 
penetrated. 

Yes, my lord,” added he, ‘^it is to thee that I 
owe my liberty, my future safety. Permit me, 
however, to recommend to thee once more my be¬ 
loved Yoland, the only good which remains to me 
of all that I possess, and of which the avarice of 
man has deprived me. I live only for my dearest 
child ; for she alone consoles me for all my woes.” 

Have no fear,” said the monk; powerful 
eyes are watching over her. If Ottocar should 
have recourse to violence, her safety is already se¬ 
cured. That holy child is under the guardianship 
of the Mother of G-od, protectress of the innocent, 
who will protect her with her potent hand. Wo 
shall do all we can, that thy daughter be promptly 
in thy arms and those of Adeltrude. Yet, if that 
happy moment should be still delayed, lose not 
courage, and despair not of the divine help. Thou 
shalt see wonders; for God is faithful.” 

Encouraged by these words, Pandolph replied : 

Last night, being fully armed, I set out for the 
monastery, intending to bring Yoland and shield 
her from the pursuit of Ottocar, when, as I came 
to a solitary place in the midst of the forest which 
surrounds the plains of Brunn, I was arrested by a 


114 The Lord Abbot Daufer, 

mysterious voice from an invisible being, who called 
me by name, imperiously commanded me to pro¬ 
ceed no further on my journey, and warned me of 
the snares which Ottocar had laid for me. I ques¬ 
tioned the voice, and I received no reply ; I searched 
among the trees, and I found no one. I remained 
mute at this prodigy, and since then I have vainly 
striven to guess who he was that had thus watched 
over my path and my safety. Sometimes I said 
that it was some soul in pain, condemned to wander 
in the forest till the day of judgment.” 

No,” replied the Abbot; those blessed souls 
are not wandering, as thou seemest to think. It was 
not one of them who spoke to thee last night. It 
was a man ... a man like thee and me—a man 
who admires thy courage and who loves thee be¬ 
cause thou sufferest persecution for justice’ sake. I 
went myself last night to consult him, not far from 
where he spoke to thee ; he told me to meet him at 
the fountain of Saint Wolfgang.” 

But who, then, is he ? ” 

Do not be uneasy, dear Count; thou shalt 
know it when the time has come. Now that thou 
art in a place of safety, thou must think only of 
thy Yoland.” 

At these words the Abbot rose, and, as the clock 
struck, I must go to the choir,” said he, to sing 
the Sext and None with my brethren ; then, if thou 
wilt honor my poor table with thy presence, we 
shall dine together.” 

The table was laid in a little room on the ground- 
floor. It opened on a garden-pond; ancient plane- 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 115 

trees surrounded the basin and covered it with their 
foliage, which dipped into the water. When the 
clock struck, they brought water for the Abbot and 
his guest to wash. The Abbot was seated on a 
wooden stool, tlie Count on a red velvet arm-chair. 
In the middle of the table was placed a magnificent 
group of silver representing St. Benedict seated 
on a rock. At his feet lies the cup-bearer of Totila, 
King of the Goths, who, by his master’s orders, had 
passed himself oft for him. St. Benedict dis¬ 
covered the imposture, and, turning towards that 
barbarous prince, he predicted to him the taking 
of Rome and the day of his own death. The din¬ 
ner abounded in game and choice meats ; it was all 
served on silver dishes, which lackeys or pages, in 
the livery of the Abbot, brought to the table from 
a sideboard loaded with costly vessels. But in the 
midst of this princely luxury the prelate only took 
a porringer of barley soup, to which he added a few 
small pickled fish and a handful of nuts. He en¬ 
tertained his guest in so gracious a manner that he 
never ceased admiring such learning, wit, and po¬ 
liteness, united with such great abstemiousness. 
Meanwhile the pages and officers of the household 
watched Pandolph, whispering to each other : 

Dost know who is that lord ? Natheless he is 
a man of importance ; for he is admitted to the 
table of the Lord Abbot, where none ever sit but 
margraves or barons of the empire.” 

‘^Hum!” said another, ‘‘I understand not a 
word that he sayeth; they are speaking German. 
He must be some relative of the Abbot.” 


ii6 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 


He seemeth rather a pilgrim—one of those who 
go to Eome through devotion; for he journeys 
alone, without even an esquire.” 

And yet he is marvellously well armed. I wot 
me it is rather a knight-errant who is going to en¬ 
ter the lists for the honor of some noble lady 
falsely accused. Dost remember that he came hith¬ 
er with helmet and hood on his head, lance in hand, 
sword and dagger at his side ? He would seem to me 
a valiant champion.” 

‘^Verily would it discontent me much to feel 
the iron of his spear or the blade of his sword. 
Just look what a hand he has ! What a sinewy arm ! 
an eagle eye ! . . . the breast of an ox ! . . 

As soon as dinner was over, the Abbot left the 
table and repaired to his cell, whilst Pandolph, 
having armed himself again, mounted his horse and 
spurred it in the direction of Znaim. 

The Abbot Daufer had sprung from a noble Thu- 
ringian family, and was a near relative of the Land¬ 
grave. In his youth he had been a knight of the 
Emperor Henry III., and was very high in the 
confidence of that monarch. He had followed him 
in his Italian campaigns, twice accompanied him to 
Rome, and oftener still to Verona, where the Em¬ 
peror had made his residence for a long time during 
the wars in Lombardy and at the period of the 
quarrels which arose between the inhabitants of 
that city and the Lombard lords. During these 
repeated journeys Daufer had known well, and still 
more admired, the valor and virtue of Boniface of 
Canossa. He had been frequently at his court, 


11 / 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 

and had been charged with various missions to him 
on the part of the Emperor on the occasion of the 
war of Parma and that of Burgundy. It was thus 
that he was enabled to appreciate the courage and 
noble qualities of the Countess Beatrice and the 
young Mathilda. In the embassies which had been 
confided to him to the various sovereigns of the 
TVest, for the affairs of the Church and the extir¬ 
pation of heresy, simony, and laxity of morals, 
which were subjects of great solicitude to the Pon¬ 
tiffs and Councils, he had made the acquaintance 
• of Cardinal Hildebrand (afterward Gregory VIL), 
and had frequent and important interviews with 
him. One day, when the knight expressed to the 
prelate his astonishment at seeing him so pure and 
holy, so enlightened, and so powerful with the 
kings of the earth, living, notwithstanding, a life 
so humble, mortified, and penitential, he asked 
him, with an air of gentle familiarity, to tell him 
by what power he had been enabled to unite so 
much simplicity with so much grandeur, so much 
sweetness with so much firmness. 

By the power of Jesus Christ alone,” replied 
the Cardinal. Such knowledge is only acquired 
at the foot of the cross, and not at the court.” 

These words, uttered with the warmth of that 
faith which inflamed the holy prelate’s heart, pro¬ 
duced such an impression on the mind of Daufer 
that, on his return from Germany with the Empe¬ 
ror, he bade farewell to the wealth which he pos¬ 
sessed, to the friendship of the prince who had 
raised him to such dignity, and became a monk in 


Il8 The Lord Abbot Daufer. 

the Abbey of Fulda, to the great astonishment of 
the whole court. He had been, however, its great¬ 
est ornament, by his urbanity, the graces of his per¬ 
son and his talents; the life which he there led was 
noble and sumptuous, his entertainments magnifi¬ 
cent, and in the tournaments as in the other trials 
of skill amongst the young lords of that period he 
was unequalled. 

This brilliant lord, once so fastidious, so elegant, 
so wealthy, and so gracious, had scarcely submitted 
himself to the trials of the religious and iienitential 
life than, to the great surprise of all the monks, even 
the professed,he became a most humble and mortified 
man. His fair, silky hair fell under the scissors ; his 
rich and sumptuous garments gave place to a rough 
habit of coarse cloth ; his fine and carefully-chosen 
shoes were replaced by sandals of thick leather ; his 
straight, haughty figure was bowed and humble; 
his gentle and pleasant voice was subdued; his ele¬ 
gant and correct language gave place to silence or 
rare and simple discourse; finally, his food, his 
refined delicacies, once so carefully prepared, were 
now only a few vegetables or some hard bread; 
his drink was water; his couch a heap of dried 
branches. 

Truly is the efficacy of divine grace admirable, 
which can alone operate such sublime prodigies in 
man ; it transforms him in a moment, renders him 
a conqueror over the empire of habit, which, so to 
say, weakens the body and even the soul. And in 
reality, how and why is it that the Middle Ages offer 
us so many examples of these complete transfer- 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 119 

mations of men, haughty, disdainful, violent, and 
even blood-thirsty, coveting the goods of others, 
often sunk in effeminacy and voluptuousness ? At 
every step we see counts, margraves, landgraves, 
dukes, and kings, who, after having consumed 
their youth in pleasure and luxury, in tournaments 
or battles, suddenly resolve to become monks, and 
that in the most severe orders, under the strictest 
rules, within the cloisters where they were deprived 
of all communication with men, having to be ill 
clad, poorly fed, sleeping little, keeping vigils in 
the choir, and devoting themselves to painful and 
arduous labors. And yet these men were of flesh 
and blood like us ! Like us, they had a natural 
inclination for an easy life, amusements, pleasures, 
in a word, good times in general, neither greater nor 
less than in our own day. And we, not only are 
we not accustomed to warlike exercises and the fury 
of wars as they were—we do not even learn from the 
example of those brave men to vanquish the natu¬ 
ral taste which we all have for rest and comfort. It 
was, do you see, because these primitive Christians 
had a pure and lively faith in Jesus Christ and in 
the last judgment; this faith, united with divine 
grace, was a goad, giving them energy to conquer 
the rebellion of their weak and miserable flesh. Do 
we not see, even in our own days, the power of faith 
in so many delicate young girls who, though brought 
up with all the ease and luxury of wealth, tread 
with a firm step in the nani’ow and toilsome path of 
cloister life among the Poor Clares, Carmelites, or 
Capuchins; and they find there such joy, such im 


120 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 


ward delight, that their happiness is at its height 
in vigils, fasts, and the most severe mortifications. 
Let the apostles of civilized Christianity proclaim 
that austerities are not in accordance with onr pre¬ 
sent civilization; as if Christ had not suffered, as if 
death were only for those of past ages, as if he had 
promised to people of modern times that they would 
obtain eternal glory by walking through delightful 
gardens, and not in painfully climbing the rocks of 
Calvary. 

After having passed some years under the aus¬ 
tere discipline of the Abbey of Fulda, Daufer 
became so speedily and vigorously developed in 
knowledge and virtue that he was demanded by 
the monks of Moravia to be their father and guide 
in the spiritual life. The Abbot of Fulda con¬ 
sented, and Daufer, having reached his new dwell¬ 
ing, increased there, by his words and example, the 
spirit of religion. The fame of-his learning and 
virtue soon spread through Bohemia and Upper 
and Lower Saxony, and caused him to be 'there 
held in great esteem. He first devoted himself to 
heal the principal wounds which were consuming 
society at that time—that is to say, laxity of 
morals, avarice, and the tyranny of the great. He 
succeeded so well—sometimes by paternal exhorta¬ 
tions, again by threats—that he soon began to reap 
in many souls the most abundant fruits of Chris¬ 
tian virtue. He Journeyed throughout the wilds 
of Moravia, notwithstanding the many dangers to 
which travellers were exposed in that country, 
whether in the depths of the forests through which 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 121 

they were obliged to pass, or from the impetuous 
torrents wliicli they bad to cross. 

They also had to avoid the cupidity of certain 
petty lords, who, from the height of a rock over¬ 
looking the way, spied out, hidden in their castles, 
the unhappy pilgrim whom fate had brought within 
their reach. From these haunts they sent their 
minions to wait at the defiles for unarmed tra¬ 
vellers, and to rob them of their baggage and their 
steeds. If the unfortunate victims sought to make 
any resistance, other assailants, coming forth from 
neighboring woods, joined the first, and eventually 
triumphed over the smaller number. Then these 
latter were made prisoners, put in irons, and 
dragged to the castle. As soon as they arrived 
there they were thrown into dungeons hollowed in 
the rock ; there they saw no more the light of day, 
and soon died of hunger and misery. 

Other still more perfidious lords sent their brutal 
followers through the woods in the disguise of 
shepherds, hunters, and foresters. These traitors 
would approach travellers, and, on pretext^ of 
showing them the road they should take to reach 
the city, they would direct them to bottomless 
marshes, where these too confiding victims were 
buried, and were then pitilessly despoiled. More 
frequently these infamous robbers contented them¬ 
selves with leading away their horses and wares, 
leaving the poor dupes amid swamps and marshes. 
These unfortunate travellers, in seeking to disen¬ 
tangle themselves from the snares into which they 
had fallen, only exhausted the remnant of their 


122 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 


strength ; night surprised them during their use¬ 
less efforts, and they perished of cold in the frozen 
water, or became the living food of wild beasts or 
birds of prey. 

On the rivers or streams, the danger was not less 
great. If they came to bridges, cruel and rapa¬ 
cious lords had fortified them at either end with 
bastion, portcullis, and tower, in such fashion that 
no one could cross without submitting to a heavy 
toll or to infamous exactions, in consequence of 
which the baggage, and sometimes even the women 
and children, were carried off. If the victims were 
rich, they were retained as hostages, and only releas¬ 
ed on the payment of enormous ransoms. Where 
there were no bridges, the boatmen of the neighbor¬ 
ing barons would let their barks to the passers- 
by; then, as soon as they were in the middle of the 
stream, would let them drift to the foot of the 
castle, where the travellers were at once pillaged and 
made prisoners. 

These dangers existed in all the countries of 
Western Europe at that period; but they were to be 
encountered more especially in Moravia and Silesia, 
these provinces being still more uncivilized and 
very remote from the centre of the empire. There 
the Abbot Daufer, to whom these cruelties and 
outrages were revolting, seeing himself lord of rich 
and vast domains, and feeling himself strong 
enough to impose laws, frequently commanded 
these audacious barons to leave the ways of com¬ 
munication safe and free, and opposed their vio¬ 
lence to travellers. The Church, an ever-tender 


The Lord Abbot. Daufer, 123 

mother to her children, ordained very severe penal¬ 
ties for the iniquity of these lords. Sentence of 
excommunication was declared against all those 
who harassed or oppressed travellers, especially 
when they were on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the 
holy apostles Peter and Paul, or to Saint James of 
Compostella in Galicia, or to the Holy Sepulchre. 
This was, at that time, the only guarantee of 
security to be had on a journey. 

Scarcely had the Abbot Daufer taken possession 
of his abbey than he forbade the barons and liege 
vassals of the monastery, and that under pain of 
forfeiture of tenure, to lay snares for travellers. He 
further commanded them to restore liberty to the 
prisoners whom they had taken, and to make resti¬ 
tution of their steeds, their people, and their goods. 
With the secular barons he acted as mediator to¬ 
gether with those of his religious who enjoyed the 
most credit; and when negotiations, counsels, and 
prayers had failed, he himself, at the head of his 
foot soldiers and cavalry, would assail the haunts 
of these brigands and rescue the sorrowful victims 
which they contained. This monk, usually so 
humble and so gentle with every one, would va¬ 
liantly attack the rebels, besiege them in their 
fortresses; mangonels, battering-rams, and bas¬ 
tilles then did their work: scaling ladders and 
those for assault and machines to open a breach 
were used without scruple, and when the battered 
walls opened a passage he was the first to rush 
into the place. 

His first care was to fly to the dungeons and res- 


124 


The Lord Abbot Daufer, 


cue from those tombs the unhappy victims who 
were there pining, restrained by heavy fetters, iron 
collars, and belts and chains, which were attached 
to the walls. 

These unfortunate people had scarcely anything 
human left about them, their limbs were so emaci¬ 
ated, their eyes hollow, their beards unshaven, their 
hair long and unkempt. In these horrible dens 
some had lost their sight, others found their flesh 
hanging in shreds from the friction of the irons. 
There were persons who had become deformed 
from being forced to bend under the weight of the 
chain which bound their neck to their feet and 
did not permit them to stand upright; there they 
were, just dragging themselves along on legs swollen 
and inflamed by the damp of the subterranean cells 
in which they had been confined. Such were the pri¬ 
sons, or rather the dungeons, of the castles of the 
Middle Ages. Now we see the remains of them, and 
a single glance makes us shudder. Yet it was in the 
depths of these abysses that poor travellers languish¬ 
ed for long years, for no other crime than that of 
seeming rich to the cruel tyrants into whose hands 
they had fallen, and who had hoped to extort from 
their relatives a heavy ransom. 

Daufer could undoubtedly have chosen no work 
more beautiful and holy. Therefore the modern 
declaimers, in their ignorance and greediness, 
cease not to cry out against the riches of the ancient 
Church, not knowing, because they will not know, 
with what generosity the bishops and monks devoted 
their treasures to the service of the afflicted. All 


125 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 

the while the worthy Abbot had many other 
no less important cares, always inspired by his up¬ 
rightness, his love of justice, and his zeal for truth, 

Alexander II. had just been declared at Rome 
tlie Sovereign Pontiff of the holy Church. This 
election was displeasing to unprincipled men. 
Under pretence that Alexander had been crowned 
without the consent of the Emperor, they chose an 
anti-Pope, Cadolaus, a schemer without faith or 
honor, who, supported by German and Lombard 
troops, marched on Rome to force the Vicar of 
Christ to yield the throne to him. 

As soon as Daufer was informed of the new cala¬ 
mity which had overwhelmed the Church, he wrote 
to the Empress Agnes, to implore her, in the name 
of the Lamb of God, not to suffer that wicked men 
should rend the seamless garment of the Redeemer, 
and cause such a scandal in Christendom—to deign 
to consider that Alexander, having been lawfully 
elected, was the true and only Pope, and that who¬ 
ever was against him was against Christ, the wisdom 
of God, and eternal truth. He maintained that 
Cadolaus was only an intruder who had come frau¬ 
dulently into the Church through the window, and 
not by the door ; as the wolf glides into the fold to 
tear and devour the lambs and sheep, so that per¬ 
fidious robber bad stolen into the fold of the Lord. 

He begged the Princess to proven t the sacrilegi¬ 
ous massacre which was impending, to note, in the 
goodness of her maternal heart, the blood, the tears 
of virgins, the prayers of confessors, the cries, 
lamentations, and despair of all Christians; that 


126 The Lord Abbot Daufer, 

it was God himself who placed the sword in the 
hands of princes for the defence of the Church, the 
sup2:)ort of the oppressed, the protection of justice, 
the terror of impiety . . . ; that God would 

give her the strength wdiich he gave to the arm of 
Judith, and that all Christendom would, with a 
common voice, salute her as the glory and the sal¬ 
vation of Israel. He further added, that if the 
perfidious murmurs of evil-intentioned persons 
made themselves heard around her, she must not 
heed them any more than the hissing of venomous 
serpents, hut, on the contrary, renew her courage 
more valiantly than ever; that her efforts would 
tend to prevent the young Henry, the hope of the 
empire, surrounded by the partisans of the Anti- 
Pope, from despising his lawful pastors, or that, 
through breathing the poisoned air of disobedience, 
his faith might become enfeebled, his intelligence 
obscured, his heart corrupted—lest, once become 
a man, and having ascended the throne, he might 
fall from error into error, from obstinacy into ob¬ 
stinacy, with pride for his guide, covetousness for 
the goods of the Church for his goad, tyranny for 
his aim, and for his final end the misery of the peo¬ 
ple who had been confided to him. But the burn¬ 
ing tears of the Spouse would fall upon the heart of 
Christ, who loves and honors her; Henry would 
never find peace, because God, who reserves to 
himself the punishment in the other life of the sins 
committed in this, has the secret of poisoning, even 
in this world, the days of those who afflict his holy 
Church. 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 127 

The secret plots of several German princes, the 
avarice and the immorality of some ecclesiastics, 
who feared the just severity of the pious Alexander 
in regard to their evil conduct, all made Daufer 
foresee that the noble and upright heart of the 
Empress Agnes would become the goal of their in¬ 
trigues. This man of God, rising even more out of 
himself by his zeal, collected all his energy to 
combat unceasingly the impious Cadolaiis, to 
strengthen in their principles the partisans of Alex¬ 
ander, to lead back the wandering, to decide the 
irresolute, to inflame the lukewarm, and to instruct 
the ignorant. He became as a wall, of iron against 
schismatics, and intrepidly resisted the assaults of 
hell, which seemed to animate these unfortunate 
men to the ruin of the whole of Italy and 
Germany. 

Daufer was accustomed to say that, when a house 
was burning, it was not sufiicient to have the good 
will to put out the fire and to confine one’s self to 
lamenting and beating one’s breast; that one must 
put their hand to the work, call for help, bring 
water from all sides, and to pour it on in torrents. 
The great social crises are never wanting in these sort 
of people—mourners, and prophets of evil—who, 
with their hands in their pockets, cease not to cry 
out: Woe to us ! Unhappy that we are I The 

world is going all wrong! There is no reme¬ 
dy ! . . . .’’It is not thus that impostors and 

agitators go to work ; quietly, with little noise, they 
scheme, they urge, they manoeuvre; here they 
attack one, there they mock at another; they flatter, 


128 


The Lord Abbot Daiifer. 


they threaten and promise, giving themselves nei¬ 
ther rest nor peace till they have attained their end. 
Yes, doubtless, the people have none but good in¬ 
tentions, their minds are upright, but they do not 
know the trickery of men, and it is precisely by the 
appearance of truth and goodness that they make 
them fall into evil and error. Therefore, it was to 
the chiefs that he must address himself; it was 
them whom he must enlighten, convince, and per¬ 
suade. single chief may gain you an army, a 
single chief may make you lose one.” 

It was with such wise and prudent opinions that 
the Abbot Daufer visited the courts of princes, the 
dioceses of bishops, the cloisters of monasteries. 
Despised here, he tried again there ; repulsed in one 
place, he was welcomed in another; in some he 
awakened remorse, in others fear or doubt; he ap¬ 
pealed to the conscience of this one, he urged on 
that one the just contempt for the enemies of God 
and of the Church ; he found for every one words 
of encouragement, of reproach, of light, or of con¬ 
solation, according to the circumstances, and he 
even went so far, when the occasion demanded it, 
as to threaten the guilty frankly and freely with the 
chastisements of Divine justice. During the whole 
pontificate of Alexander 11 . Daufer took no rest, 
and when Cadolaus, defeated and pursued by the 
Eomans, had with the greatest diflSculty found re¬ 
fuge in the castle of Saint Angelo, the holy Abbot 
earnestly besought Godfrey of Lotharingia not to let 
him escape. He, however, succeeded in doing so, but 
Daufer still pursued him by word and in writing. 


The Lord Abbot Daufer. 129 

A man of sucli a lofty lieart and suck activity 
might justly fear to create enemies on all sides. 
And yet, he pursued' his way intrepidly, all the 
time using those means that a wise and wary sol¬ 
dier does not reject—despising the wicked, attack¬ 
ing his enemies to their face, defying traitors, as 
much as possible, and placing in everything an un¬ 
limited confidence in Divine Providence, who watch¬ 
es so tenderly over its faithful servants. He often 
had bitter trials ; one day, he fell in among a band 
of assassins who were waiting to kill him, but who 
did not recognize him. Another time, the dagger 
was at his throat; he wa& delivered without know¬ 
ing how. Often he traversed countries peopled with 
his cruel enemies, hearing a price put upon his head, 
seeing the rewaids promised to any man who would 
deliver Daufer, living or dead, and he never met a 
traitor. 

One time, among many others, he was proceeding 
to Eottenstein ; escorted by twelve men-at-arms, he 
arrived about evening in a village which had a good 
inn. He determined to take advantage of it to re¬ 
fresh his people and their steeds ; he told them to 
alight and rest themselves, whilst he continued his 
way alone to the monastery of the Premonstraten- 
sians, which stood upon a hill about two miles from 
the village. The innkeeper furnished • him with 
an humble steed, and the Abbot, without wallet, 
or cloak, or arms of any kind, peacefully began 
his journey. He had scarcely gone a mile when 
a black cloud appeared above the summit of the 
mountain ; blown by a violent wind, the cloud 


130 The Lord Abbot Daufer. 

spread out, and at length dissolved in a torrent of 
rain, accompanied by fearful thunder and lightning. 
The Abbot quickened his horse’s pace in order to 
gain a shelter in the ruins of a castle which had 
, been destroyed by the Hungarians at the time of 
their invasions. The reader who has gone from Yel- 
letri to the ruins of the immense castle of Nympha, 
at the foot of the high rock which served as a foun¬ 
dation to the ancient city of Norma, may, by re¬ 
calling that region, have an idea of that which 
Daufer now traversed. 

The towers and walls of the fortress were still 
entire, but the interior presented to the eye only 
the ruins of churches, houses, and public edifices; 
in the midst of this rubbish nettles, thistles, and 
briars had forced themselves a passage ; crevasses, 
dismantled walls ; the ivy and the bind-weed here 
drooped their melancholy verdure, adding to the 
dreariness of the place. A little brook flowed a lit¬ 
tle further on, and turned the wheel of a poor mill. 
The monastery was still distant, and, besides, the 
rain was falling too violently. The Abbot resolved to 
reach a crenelated edifice, under the porch of which, 
to his great astonishment, he found a sort of tav¬ 
ern ; he alighted, and fastened his horse to a cart 
near by. The landlord came to meet him, and 
with the most gracious manner possible invited 
him to enter the kitchen, where an immense fire 
was blazing. This man was, according to the cus¬ 
tom of the time, entirely clad in leather; a large 
belt of bufi-skin enclosed his sturdy figure; from 
this belt hung a long cutlass and a steel to sharpen 


The Lord Abbot Datifer. 131 

the knife, wbicli had been blunted by the immense 
cuts of mutton which he was carving for his guests; 
he had a coarse bristling beard, and his long wiry 
hair shone wdth the oiliness of the grease which it 
had received. His whole countenance bespoke him 
an arrant rascal. 

While he was drying himself, Daufer discovered, 
seated around an oak table, half a dozen men of 
evil mien, with helmets and breastplates, whose 
lances and shields stood against the wall, and who 
were eating ravenously, and drinking from a huge 
j.ug of beer. 

^^Come on, comrade,’’ said one of these men 
to the landloi'd, in a hoarse voice ; 'Met us hasten 
with all speed; to-night we shall divide the sum. 
That wdll be forty silver pieces that the baron is to 
give us, if we bring him this Daufer’s head. That 
will be six for each of us, and four for thee. Come 
on, let us drink.” 

" But, fool, thou countest without thy host. 
Daufer has not yet arrived; and, besides, he is ac- 
comj)anied by twelve soldiers well armed with 
lances. ... We are only six.” 

" May the fiend seize thee, thou varlet! and the 
landlord and his boys, dost count them for naught ? 
Either he will come here and sleep here, and the 
landlord has up there a room which has a pretty 
trap, through which others have already passed— 
tliou understandest me . . . ; or he will continue 
on his road, to repair straightway to the monastery, 
and our sentinel is up there, to keep guard for a 
mile around. We shall place ourselves in ambush 


132 


The Lord Abbot Dattfer. 


among these ruins, which we know well, and thence 
two of us would suffice to slay twenty men before 
they could recover themselves. Let him only come 
here, and we shall accommodate him as he de¬ 
serves—the bird of evil omen who goes round with 
his wallet always furnished with anathemas and 
interdicts! . . . Such a blow would be only sport 
for men of our temper. . . . Let us eat well and 
drink better.’’ 

How now, fellow, thou at the fire,” cried a 
bandit; ^^hast met with that night rambler ?” 

Of whom dost thou speak ? ” asked Daufer. 

Of the wolf,” replied another, who, wiser than 
his companions, perceived their imprudence. 

said Daufer, ^‘1 have seen no wolf of 
any kind.” 

So much the better for thyself and for us,” 
murmured the landlord. 

The Abbot, seeing that the rain had abated, 
paid his reckoning, remounted his horse, and 
urging him a little, while blessing the Lord who 
had drawn him out of this dangerous situation, he 
reached the monastery at nightfall. 



CHAPTER VIL 

SNARES. 

Whilst these things were happening to Pan- 
dolph, on account of his daughter, whose hand 
Ottocar had determined to obtain in spite of all 
obstacles, the poor child was living in peace, una¬ 
ware of the dangers which threatened her. Her 
sweet temper, gaiety, and affability rendered her 
dear to all her companions, who, with the instinct 
of youth, divined her sisterly and affectionate re¬ 
gard for them all. They even looked upon her as 
a prudent counsellor, a protectress, and that with¬ 
out any difficulty, so great was her acknowledged 
superiority, so clearly was her wisdom and charity 
shown forth in her looks, her countenance, her ac¬ 
tions, and her discourse. 

Yoland was the golden clasp that bound togeth¬ 
er all their inclinations, humors, and varied affec¬ 
tions. She had the talent of finding in each of her 
companions the bright side of her character, which 
might understand, agree, and harmonize with more 
unamiable natures. This precious quality won for 
her the general confidence, and even her mistresses 
knew how to avail themselves of it for the common 
good. Yoland had, among other virtues, that 




134 


Snares. 


quality wliicli is so estimable in a young girl—I 
mean great fidelity in scrupulously keeping the se¬ 
cret of a friend, the art of making herself all in all 
without either harshness or flattery,and all the while 
preserving a noble candor. Whenever she came as 
peacemaker, even the bitter disputants were certain 
to become calm at once, to settle their quarrel, and 
peace and concord were at once re-established. 

It was thus, without seeking it, she had made 
herself the soul of that little world. She managed 
its affairs, proposed games, and was the interpreter 
of her companions’ desires with her mistresses. 
She would also adroitly profit by her influence over 
the pupils to obtain of them more submission to the 
rules of the house and obedience to the commands 
of the Abbess. By this means, order became more 
entire and more easy, the results of study more 
satisfactory—it is needless to say, to the great joy 
of the religious. It must not be supposed that 
Yoland, although charged with so serious and diffi¬ 
cult a part, lost even the slightest degree in amia¬ 
bility, but on the contrary. In certain favored 
souls, there are such attractive qualities that every¬ 
thing in them, even their very silence, has a grace, 
which pleases, attracts confidence, and commands 
affection. 

One beautiful afternoon, as the young band were 
amusing themselves under the trees in the garden, 
Swatiza the Bohemian appeared at the convent, 
carrying on her back her little store of baubles and 
jewelry. She sent for Sister Ounegonde, and, 
assuming an air of modesty and compunction : 


Snares, 


135 


^^Holy and amiable Sister/’ said she, come 
from afar, and I bring tliee things which would 
seem to have come out of Paradise ; but they are 
holy and sacred things, and I dare not touch them 
with profane hands ; even the hands of a priest are 
none too pure for that. But thine, Sister, those of 
a spouse of the Lord, can they not be touched by 
such virginal hands ? Everything, even to sacred 
chalices and blessed pals. As for me, let us kneel 
down in all haste, while dear Sister Ounegonde re¬ 
moves the first covering of the satchel which con¬ 
tains the precious relics.” 

And so saying, she drew from a leathern wallet 
a little package covered with linen, under which 
was a satchel of crimson velvet. 

Whilst Ounegonde opened the leathern satchel, 
Swatiza bowed to the very ground, as if in profound 
veneration; she remained in that posture till the 
wallet had been opened and its contents exposed to 
view. Now, it contained a score or so of beads 
about the size of an olive, and of a dark color. 

What are these beads ? ” asked the Sister. 

^‘0 sweet Sister,” replied Swatiza, raising her 
head, ‘^thatis verily the holiest object that ye daugh¬ 
ters of St. Benedict could have here on this earth. 
Those beads .... dost know of what they 
are made ? Well, I will tell thee.” And 
thereupon she prostrated herself on the ground. 

Those beads were made of St. Benedict’s staff, 
the one which he used when he had grown old, 
and on which he leaned. What a treasure, 
my Lady Ounegonde. One Fulde, a monk (I blush 


Snares, 


136 

to tell it), offered to buy them of me for twenty 
marks a piece, but I sharply reprimanded him for 
his simony, saying, looking severely at him: ^ Sim- 
oniacal wretch, son of Belial, are those articles of 
trade?’ and I would not give him one. I kept 
them for thee, for thee alone, and for thy convent, 
on which these beads cannot fail to bring down 
heavenly blessings. Oh ! make haste, Sister, re¬ 
place them in their cover; the air itself is not 
worthy to breathe upon them. Give one of them, 
I pray thee, to Lady Eribert, and another to Lady 
Alimburga. It is really by a miracle that they 
came into my hands. Oh ! what a great saint is St. 
Benedict. Therefore imagine my passing a night 
in the Black Forest. It was fast growing dark, 
when a long deep groan came from the thickest por¬ 
tion of the wood. I went in the direction from 
which it proceeded, and I came to a little clearing 
where there stood a small cabin, shaded by some 
fir-trees. On the threshold lay an old man, half 
unconscious, who was giving utterance to these 
plaintive cries. I immediately asked him what 
was the matter. Alas! my dear child, dost 
thou not see that my left leg is all mangled ? 
This morning, as I was busy digging in my garden, 
a great fierce bear fell upon me, dug his sharp claws 
into my shoulder, and tore the flesh of my leg with 
his cruel teeth. I vainly uttered loud cries of pain ; 
then I dragged myself thither as well as I could, 
and then my strength failed. I implore thee, my 
good girl, to aid me in reaching my poor couch, 
where I shall soon breathe my last, beyond doubt. 


Snares, 


137 


for nature is overcome by suffering.’ I raised him 
from the ground, and assisted him into his humble 
bed of straw. These efforts exhausted him, and as 
he felt death rapidly approaching—^My good girl,’ 
said he, ‘I feel that all is over, but"I wish before 
giving up my soul to my Creator to acknowledge 
thy charity. Dost see a box hanging over that 
shelf ? Bring me that.’ I obeyed ; and when he 
ojpened it with his dying hand—‘ Seest thou that 
satchel, ray daughter ? It contains some marvellous 
beads, made of St. Benedict’s staff. They were 
long preserved with care in the celebrated abbey of 
Frising, at the period when the Hungarians devas¬ 
tated Bavaria, and spread lire and blood throughout. 
They had just pillaged and burned the famous abbey 
and its church, when a holy religious, who had 
escaped the massacre and had returned to weep over 
the ruins of his former home, perceived in the 
midst of the ruins, among some smoking ashes, the 
little satchel of red silk which thou boldest in thy 
hand. He picked it up, opened it, and, to his great 
surprise, found intact the beads which it contained, 
together with a parchment on which was inscribed 
the name of the Abbot of Monte-Cassino, who had 
made them a present to the Abbey of Frising at 
the period when that rare favor had been granted. 
To tell thee how this treasure is now within my 
hands would be too long . . . ; receive it from 

mine, take great care of it, and may it draw down 
on thee all manner of benedictions. Whosoe ver has 
it in her possession will have'an inestimable trea¬ 
sure, and can never be destroyed by fire.’ Thus 


138 


Snares. 


spoke the old man, then he expired. Prithee, Sister 
Cunegonde, is not that a miracle ? Whosoever wears 
that satchel can never hum. May we, at least, 
burn with the love of God 

Sister Cunegonde was simple, and somewhat cre¬ 
dulous ; she took the beads respectfully, consider¬ 
ing Swatiza as a saint, and would willingly have 
kissed the hem of her robes—because, at this period 
of lively and simple faith, it was easy to abuse the 
credulity of the people. Impostors carried hither 
and thither false relics, of which they made an in¬ 
famous traffic. Yainly the Sovereign Pontiffs, the 
watchful guardians of Israel, warned the faithful 
not to trust these shameless deceivers, and only to 
consider as true and holy the relics which were 
marked with the seal of the Holy See, of that of 
the Lateran Legate, of that of the bishops. There¬ 
fore it is that Protestants have not failed, and most 
wrongly, to hold the Church responsible for these 
abuses ; they have accused her of imposing on the 
faith of the faithful in the relics of saints, v/hile, 
on the contrary, she has always shown such severity 
in this regard that it even appeared extreme to en¬ 
lightened men. But this calumny has no less pre¬ 
vailed. Those Protestants who, in our days, buy, 
at great price, as Greek, Eoman, or Etruscan, 
bronzes and antique vessels, manufactured yester¬ 
day in the workshops of Naples or Rome, and who 
export them to England or Germany as priceless 
objects of Porsenna, Pericles, and Scij)io, exclaim 
against the Roman Church, whose fault it is not, 
because some good people of the Middle Ages con- 



Snares. 


139 


eidered as relics objects which impostors had given 
them as holy, or as having been brought from the 
Holy Land by the Crusaders. 

When the Bohemian saw that Sister Ounegonde 
was much pleased with the miraculous beads, slie 
smiled pleasantly, and with an insinuating man¬ 
ner— 

Good little Sister,’’ said she, ‘'would it be pos¬ 
sible for thee to lead me to your beautiful young 
ladies ? I have here many pretty little things 
which will give them pleasure to see, and thou 
kiiQwest that young girls are curious about these 
trifles. Como, now, reverend Sister, do me this 
favor ! ” 

Sister Cunegonde brought her to the garden, and 
as soon as the pupils saw who accompanied her— 

“Here is Swatiza !” cried all of them ; “here is 
Swatiza ! 0 Swatiza ! what lovely things hast 

thou brought us ? Whence dost thou come ? Hast 
thou velvet satchels ? Hast thou bracelets ? Hast 
belts and ribbons ? Hasten, mother, to show us all 
these things.” 

Swatiza put forward her chin, closed her eye, com¬ 
pressed her lips, and sent them kisses with her 
hand. 

“My dear young people,” said she to them, 
“ ye have never seen anything richer, or more beauti¬ 
ful, or more admirable, than what I have brought 
ye. Here are purses of embroidered Burgundy 
damask, jewellery mounted in Venice, a town 
placed in the middle of the sea like a pearl in a 
shell; net-work of steel from Milan, all kinds of 


140 


Snares, 


rings from G-renada, cloth from Trebizonde, Tar- 
tarj belts, Golconda gauzes, laces from Anvers, 
painted linen from Armenia, mirrors from Amalfi, 
enamels from the Pyramids of Egypt.’’ 

^^What are the Pyramids of Egypt ?” 

Little ignoramus ! They are Turkish princesses 
who wear long, wide, flowing pantaloons of muslin.” 

^^Yerily! . . . Women in pantaloons? Hast 
thou seen them, Swatiza ?” 

A thousand times, in the country of the Sara¬ 
cens, when I visited the Holy Sepulchre.” 

And where is Grenada ? ” . . . 

^^In the country of the Moors, beyond the 
sea. ...” 

And Milan ? ” 

^^That will do ; that will do, prattlers.” 

When the Bohemian had spread out all her 
tempting wares, the young girls crowded round her 
like a swarm of bees round honey; one took up 
one article, the other praised another ; this one 
looked at herself in a mirror, that one tried on a 
bracelet, put a ring on her finger, a collar round 
her neck; many of them had more desires than 
mone}^, all of them asked the price of everything, 
and, when they knew it, lowered their eyes, bit 
their lips, nodded their heads, and looked at each 
other, as if to say : 

I would love to have it, but my purse is 
empty.” 

The more daring said : 

Swatiza, my parents are about to send me 
money ; give me credit, I will pay thee later.” 


Snares. 


141 

My dears/’ replied the cheat, I am only a 
poor woman, and, without ready money, I can pro¬ 
cure nothing for myself. Dost know what I will 

do r 

And thereupon she lowered her voice : 

If ye have any skirts, chemises, or veils, make 
them into a parcel and give them to me secretly, 
and ye shall have a ring or a bracelet in exchange.” 

Thus did this wicked woman teach them to steal 
to gratify their whims. Whilst deceiving these 
poor children, Swatiza was seeking Yoland with all 
her eyes. She perceived her at a rosebush, which 
she was stripping of its fairest flowers. Leaving 
her wares to the pupils, she approached the rose¬ 
bush, and in one moment made acquaintance with 
Yoland. 

Happy, thrice happy maiden,” said she, “ who 
art busying thyself with trifles, whilst fortune is 
showering its favors at thy feet. Dost thou see 
this crown of filagree, studded with precious stones ? 
Dost thou see this bracelet of gold with a car¬ 
buncle in the centre ? This stone possesses a pecu¬ 
liar property, it shines like a star in darkness ; it 
alone is worth the price of a city. This belt strewn 
v/ith rubies and emeralds is worthy of an empress : 
these three articles are for thee. A prince offers 
them to thee. ...” 

Yoland gazed fixedly at the Bohemian without 
saying a word. Swatiza continued more warmly : 

^^Thou regardest me bewildered. Know, my 
daughter, know that Ottocar, Marquis of Brunn, 
wishes to ask thy hand. He sends me to pray thee 


142 


Snares. 


to accept these slight presents. Oh ! dear Yoland, 
what a brilliant fate is in store for thee ! Ottocar, 
as thou knowest, is the richest and most powerful 
lord in Moravia, and the old Duke betrothed him 
to his daughter Gisela, who brings him as a dowry 
cities and castles. And yet, he prefers thee to all 
the princesses of Germany and Bohemia; he would 
raise thee—thee, a stranger—to the rank of Mar¬ 
chioness of Brunn, and crown thee under that 
title. And what sayest thou ? Speak ! what an¬ 
swer shall I bear to my lord ? That thou art hap¬ 
py, rejoiced ? Shall it not he so ? That thou art 
grateful for these presents, and will agree to his 
wishes ? Let me only do this, dear Yoland, and he 
will be overwhelmed with joy when I tell him this 
from thee. ...” 

From me,” proudly interrupted Yoland, ‘^thou 
wilt tell him, Swatiza, that I am hut a poor child 
of the people, and that I cannot aspire to the hand 
of a powerful lord. That, besides, I have a father ; 
it is for him, and not for me, to arrange my settle¬ 
ment in life according to his rank. That I can¬ 
not, must not, accept any gift without the consent 
of the Abbess ; that I would be thereby doing a dis¬ 
honorable action.” 

0 rash and imprudent maiden that thou 
art! Is Ottocar, then, a suitor to reject ? Forbear 
such language ! Accept these costly presents, and 
let not the opportunity escape ; once lost, can it 
ever he recovered ? . . . At least, tell me that 
thou wilt reflect; that meanwhile thou wilt accept 
his presents, and the offer of his hand ?” 


Snares. 


143 


Yoland found herself in one of those trials to 
which virtuous young girls are too often exposed, 
misled by deceit and surrounded by treachery. But 
these pure souls, though simple, innocent, and in¬ 
experienced, receive such light from God that they 
instinctively perceive the snares which are laid for 
them, and finally pass through them with a free, 
light step. And woe to them, indeed, if they hesi¬ 
tate to fly! The noose in which they are to be 
caught is often so placed that if, instead of boldly 
cutting it, they seek to unknot and unravel it, it 
entangles and fastens round their feet in such man¬ 
ner that there is no more hope of breaking ik 
Yoland, guessing the plans of the Bohemian, over¬ 
threw them with a single word. She again repeated 
that, without the consent of her father and the 
Abbess, she would not listen to his proposal, and, 
moving away, she Joined her companions. 

That time the temptress was vanquished, and left 
alone with her shame. She quitted the monastery 
hanging her head, went to Brunn, and presented 
herself to the Margrave, with whose difficult mission 
she had been entrusted. He no sooner saw her 
than he called out from some distance : 

Well, Swatiza, what answer bringest thou ?” 

‘^The best in the world,’’ replied she, ^'if thou 
wilt be a man.” 

Believe my anxiety, and tell me if Yoland re¬ 
ceived my presents graciously.” 

^^Like all young girls, she began to make objec¬ 
tions, saying that the Lord of Brunn must address 
himself to her father .... Now, as I am 


144 


Snares, 


fain to believe, this- father is not an idiot, and at 
the first word from thee he will be transported with 

joy-” 

At the Bohemian’s embarrassed answers Otto- 
car felt an uncontrollable anger. He regarded her 
sternly. 

And what has become of my presents ? ” said he. 

Did she accept them willingly ? Did she try on 
the bracelet, and the crown, and the belt ?” 

‘^My lord, ... it is because . . . thou seest, 
. . . my good lord, . . . young girls are of that 
kind that they will be dying to possess a thing and 
will not let it be seen for all the world. Once they 
have made a show of putting their father forward, 
they would seem to hold by that; but ...” 

But . . . but ... a plague on thee, thou 
vagabond ! I know not what keeps me from roast¬ 
ing thee alive, thou old ruffian.” 

As he spoke he toyed with the hilt of his dagger. 
Swatiza, seeing the storm which threatened her, ex¬ 
claimed : “Ah ! have pity on me, my lord. Send 
for her father, and thy wishes shall be accom¬ 
plished.” 

“ Her father . . . her father ...” replied Ot- 
tocar, becoming a little calmer. “He has left 
Znaim, and no one knows whither he has gone. 
But what puzzles me the most is that I cannot dis¬ 
cover how he learned that I had placed several of 
my people on his path, to seize upon him, bring 
him to me, and thus force him to accede to my 
plans. My emissaries told me, and they had it 
from good authority, that Pandolph had set out on 


Snares. 


145 


his way to the convent, to some distant country ; 
but in the midst of his journey he changed his 
mind and turned rein, so that in place of him my 
men found only the soldiers of the Abbot Daufer, 
with whom they had a crow to pluck, and not to 
their advantage, for several remained there; the 
others took flight. Wherefore, thou seest, wretch, 
that Pandolpli having escaped me, I can never ob¬ 
tain the hand of his daughter.” 

If that be so,” replied the wily creature, cannot 
some faithful friend repair to the monastery and 
bring to the daughter a feigned consent from her 
father ? ” 

This stratagem pleased the young man, and he 
applauded it, though it seemed difficult of execu¬ 
tion. However, inspired by the devil, he said to 
the Bohemian : We must at least have some arti¬ 
cle which belonged to Pandolph, so as to show it to 
Yoland if she hesitates to believe that the message 
came from her father. Wouldst thou have the ad¬ 
dress to procure some such thing ? ” 

If he left Znaim in haste, that will not be dif¬ 
ficult. Give me time to make my way into the 
house which he occupied; I shall certainly find 
there some object which he had forgotten or laid 
aside till his return. If thou wilt take upon thee 
to find a man capable of acting well the part of 
false messenger, I will take care of the rest.” 

However, Yoland’s thoughts were in quite 
another direction. After having abruptly left 
Swatiza, she went to the Abbess Theotberga and 
related to her, word for word, all the messages 


146 


Snares. 


which the Margrave of Brunn had sent to her and 
the rich presents which he had offered her. At 
this recital Theotherga, looking affectionately at 
her, said : Alas ! my dear child, the Lord has se¬ 
vere trials in store for thee, I fear ; but be assured 
that his powerful hand will defend thee from all 
misfortune. The holy angels would hear thee 
away with their own hands sooner than permit that 
the evil designs of Ottocar, his imperious character, 
and the anger which your refusal will excite in 
him, should become the cause of your ruin. Yo- 
land, thou knowest I have a mother’s tenderness for 
thee ; suffer me to put thee a question which pru¬ 
dence and delicacy have hitherto forbidden me to 
ask thee. Tell me frankly, answer truly, and 
doubt not my fidelity in guarding thy secret in an 
inviolable manner, I solemnly assure thee. Has 
thy father, Pandolph, made known to thee thy 
true origin ? ” 

At this sudden and unexpected question Yoland 
cast down her eyes, colored a little, and answered : 
‘‘Mother, I always believed myself to be the 
daughter of an humble vassal; yet, I must confess, 
the last time my father came to see me he took me 
apart, if thou dost remember, and whilst thou wert 
conversing with my mother, he said, holding my 
hand in his: ‘ My daughter, thou hast reached an 
age when I can confide to thy judgment and affec¬ 
tion a secret which I have hitherto withheld from 
thee; reflect that to betray it might cost me my 
life. Thou must know, then, my dear Yoland, 
that I have until now concealed my rank. I am 


Snares, 


147 


not of this country; I am the Count of Groningen, 
and sovereign of that beautiful country. Thy 
mother is the daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse, 
ruler of those vast states. The Margrave of Bran¬ 
denburg, formerly a partisan of Cadolaiis, as he 
now is of Gilbert of Kavenna, has sworn my ruin, 
because I in former times embraced the cause of 
Alexander, as in these days I support the interests of 
Gregory VII., the Vicar of God here below. Such is 
the real motive of the war which he declared against 
me,, and in which I at first had the advantage, 
though my army was inferior to his; but in 
another engagement, the Lord of Dessau having 
treacherously attacked me, I was wounded in the 
encounter, atid, besides, was made prisoner by the 
Margrave. The heroic courage and devoted tender¬ 
ness of thy mother enabled me to recover my lib¬ 
erty. My brother Guinigise held the reins of gov¬ 
ernment during my absence ; but the Emperor and 
other German princes who favored the Anti-Pope, 
vexed at my fidelity to the Holy See, aided the 
Margrave of Brandenburg in depriving me of my 
coronet and seizing upon my possessions. Thou 
seest, my daughter, until circumstances grow 
better, until the Emperor, returned to Christian 
sentiments, becomes reconciled with the holy Pope 
Gregory, VIL, prudence commands that I live con¬ 
cealed, in order to preserve for thee the heritage of 
thine ancestors. I have confidence in God; it is 
to satisfy his justice that I endure these sufferings. 
I trust the day of deliverance and consolation is not 
far distant.’^' 


148 


Snares. 


Yoland ceased to speak. The Abbess then took 
her in her arms and pressed her to^ her heart. 
‘^Oh!’’ said she, weeping, ^^may the hopes of 
Pandolph never be frustrated by the reverses of 
fortune and the vicissitudes of time. Thy father, 
dear child, is a confessor of the living God in the 
person of his Vicar. Now, those who suffer for 
justice’ sake shall be exalted and glorified, even in 
this world, according to the measure of the trials 
and humiliations which they have endured, because 
God is eternal truth and fidelity, and he has prom¬ 
ised that it shall be so. As for thee, my child, who 
wert born in exile, nourished with the bread of 
tears, thou shalt yet have happy days, and thou 
wilt die on a throne. Ottocar would not be un¬ 
worthy of thee were he virtuous, if, in place of dis¬ 
honorably laying a snare for thee, he had frankly 
asked thee of thy father, as all true knights would 
have done—although, truth to tell, Pandolph would 
have in any case refused him thy hand, Ottocar 
being already betrothed to Gisela, daughter of the 
Duke of Moravia. I will pray and have prayers 
said for thee, my daughter. Meanwhile, attach 
thyself more firmly than ever to God ; frequently 
approach Jesus in the sacrament of his love, for 
victory under such circumstances can be obtained 
by prayer alone.” 

The same day that Swatiza had had the interview 
with Ottocar which we have reported, she repaired 
to Znaim, and sought to make friends by means of 
her wares. She went into the houses, gossipped 
with the women, offering them good bargains, 


Snares, 


149 


giving part of her assortment for a mere nothing. 
Therefore, in less than three days she had made 
friends of all the people who could give her infor¬ 
mation concerning Pandolph. However, she suc¬ 
ceeded in discovering but very little. One night,” 
said tliey, the neighbors heard a great trampling 
of horses, and on the following day his wife and he 
had disappeared.” Having, nevertheless, succeeded 
in finding the house which Pandolph had inhabited, 
she introduced herself to the old woman who had 
care of it, and by little presents of pins, needles, 
scissors, and mirrors, she gained her confidence so 
far as to obtain permission to visit the dwelling. 
The poor woman, without the slightest suspicion, 
made her enter, and Swatiza assured herself of the 
haste in which Pandolph had departed. He had 
taken nothing with him which could at all impede 
a rapid journey. The furniture was all in its place. 
He and his wife had set out on their way like real 
pilgrims. Vainly did Swatiza ^eek for a ring or a 
seal of which she might possess herself. She found 
nothing of that kind, and was obliged to change 
her plan of attack. She found herself presently in 
a little room adjoining Pandolph’s apartment. A 
little bed, a shelf, an ivory statue of Our Blessed 
Lady, composed the furniture. 

^^This,” said the old woman, ^‘was the room of 
Yoland, Pandolpli’s daughter, when she was a 
child. She is now in the convent at Brunn, and 
her mother, who loves her tenderly, has always 
preserved everything here just as you see it, and as 
if her daughter still inhabited it,” 


Snares. 


150 

Swatiza wished for no more. Therefore, whilst 
her companion was opening the door, the Bohemian 
seized the little statue with a quick movement, and 
immediately went out. Once free, she made a 
bundle of her wares, and in all haste took the road 
for Brunn. Ottocar was waiting impatiently for 
her. 

‘^And now,’’ said she to him, showing him the 
sacred image, ‘‘now we must profit by this object. 
Yoland has known it since her childhood.” 

Ottocar immediately sent for one of the two 
Spanish magicians of whom we have spoken, men 
who were, unfortunately, too ready to oblige him 
in everything. He commanded him to array him¬ 
self in the garb of a monk of Cluny, then to pro¬ 
ceed to Yoland, and to exhort her, in her father’s 
name, to grant him her hand. 

The impostor, who, contrary to the usage of the 
time, wore a long beard, which gave him a majestic 
and philosophical air, combed it carefully, and 
divided it into two long locks. He washed his 
face with the juice of certain herbs, which made it 
pale and emaciated, and put on the white Capuchin 
frock. Then, thus arrayed, he took his way to the 
convent. He presented himself at the door with a 
modest and devout manner, then, in Pandolph's 
name, asked to see and speak with Yoland. The 
portress apprised the Abbess, who sent for the 
young girl, told her about the monk, and accom¬ 
panied her to the parlor. At sight of Theotberga 
the impostor was disturbed, but soon recovered his 
assurance. 


Snares. 


151 

^‘Very Reverend Mother,” said he, “I am from 
the Abbey of Cluny. Our holy Abbot, the succes¬ 
sor of the celebrated Odilon, sent me into Poland 
to found a monastery of our order there. I stopped 
for a few days at the Convent of Znaim, with the 
venerable Daufer, to rest from the fatigues of my 
journey. Now, I am an old friend, a comrade-at- 
arms of Pandolph. I spent my youth with him at 
the Court of Henry III. We were together in the 
wars of Germany and Italy, where he signalized 
himself by his valor; but at length God, in his in¬ 
finite mercy, deigned to show me the vanity of the 
world. The fame of the Abbot Odilon had reached 
me. I left the court, abandoned the profession of 
arms, and devoted myself to serve God in poverty, 
humility, and mortification. Some years after my 
profession, our Superior sent me into Norway and 
the kingdom of the Goths, to spread the faith of 
Jesus Christ. I dwelt for a long time in those 
countries. Later, I crossed the seas with some 
other priests to labor for the conversion of frozen 
Iceland, which is the ancient Thul4. Alas ! . . . 
venerable lady, such countries ! such seas ! There 
dark night reigns for six months of the year ; the 
mid-day resembles the lingering twilight of the late 
evening. During the other hours it is so dark that 
lights are required at dinner as at supper, on aris¬ 
ing us on retiring to rest, in church as in the mar¬ 
ket, in the choir for matins as for tierce; and the 
lights used are only pine-branches, or tow steeped 
in whale or seal oil.” 

^^What meanest thou, father, by seals and 


152 


Snares, 


whales ? asked Yoland, who was listening atten- 
tiyely to his strange recital. 

My child,” replied the false monk, seals are 
large animals which live in the water and on land. 
They are so long that one of them would fill one 
side of thy cloister. Their bodies and heads are 
enormous; their protruding eyes are like two balls 
of glass ; their mouth is so large and deep that one 
could stand upright therein ; their thick jaws are 
like two gutters reversed, and on each side are six 
or eight teeth longer than your arm, and they have 
very short fins. As for the whale, it is the largest 
fish in the ocean. There are some so prodigious 
that when they float on the surface of the water 
they resemble little islets covered with moss. Seals 
and whales are filled with a white fat, of which oil is 
made in such quantities that the inhabitants of that 
country draw therefrom each as many as ten tuns. 

‘‘These men make in their foreheads and cheeks 
circular or oval incisions, which they color red or 
blue. The more they are painted, the more they 
are admired and esteemed. They live by the pro¬ 
ducts of the chase, of their fishing, and by the 
working of mines of iron, lead, or pewter, in which 
the country abounds, and which forms one branch 
of their commerce with Norway, Denmark, and 
England. 

“ They pass their lives in the midst of icebergs, 
which storms and furious currents bring and heap 
on their shores, where they form mountains, castles 
with crystal turrets, high pyramids, and arches sur¬ 
mounted by tapering spires. 


Snares. 


153 


In the midst of this strange country, numbers 
of seals are to he seen fl 3 dng from the white hears, 
their deadly enemies. These latter pounce on the 
hack of their peaceful prey, hury their cruel teeth 
in them, and with their sharp claws tear and dis- 
memher them to devour their flesh. 

But this is not yet all. My wanderings did not 
end there. A whaling vessel from Iceland brought 
me to the far-off shores of Greenland, whose inhabi¬ 
tants are of short, thick stature, with flat faces, and 
eyes obliquely placed. Their garments are the 
skins of the white hear; they wear on their heads 
bonnets of marten-skin, and on their hands gaunt¬ 
lets of rabbit-skin, as white as snow. In their own 
language, they call themselves Esquimaux, and 
journey over the ice in sledges drawn by reindeers 
or swift-running dogs. Their habitations are built 
of blocks of ice, so hard that though night and day 
they have blazing fires, yet the walls do not melt. 
The floor of these dwellings is covered with bison, 
bear, or deer skin. Some of the cabins have roofs 
formed of the sides of a whale, over which is placed 
the skin of the seals, falling to the ground on every 
side, in the form of a tent; and, wouldst thou be¬ 
lieve it, there are already in these countries Chris¬ 
tians, natives converted to the faith by the monks, 
episcopal sees and episcopal churches, just as in 
Iceland.”* 

Yoland listened with admiration to the beautiful 

♦ Christianity was, in fact, brought into Iceland and Green¬ 
land by monks from Norway about the time of which we 
write. 


154 


Snares. 


tales of the false monk ; but the Abbess asked her¬ 
self to what all this long discourse tended, and she 
begged God to deign to enlighten her. When the 
impostor had finished the enumeration of all these 
wonders, which he had heard related by a religions, 
formerly a real missionary in those countries, he 
addressed Yoland with an extremely paternal man¬ 
ner : 

I had no sooner learned that my dear Pandolph 
was living in Znaim than I went thither to see him. 
But judge of my grief ! . . . I found him in 

bed in consequence of a kick from a horse, which, 
without having broken the leg, bruised his flesh so 
severely that he will be unable to ride for some 
time. Thou canst imagine the welcome which he 
gave me on meeting me again after so long a sepa¬ 
ration. . . . What reminiscences of our youth 

we recalled! Therefore I did remain at Znaim 
some days longer than I intended, to enjoy that 
meeting ; but the day before yesterday, when I was 
bidding him farewell: ^ Thibault,’ said he to me, 
suddenly, before thou returnest to Poland, wilt 
thou render me the service of a friend ? I left my 
Yoland, my only child, at the Convent of Brunn, 
to have her educated in a manner conformable to 
her birth, and as a good Christian, by that admira¬ 
ble woman, Theotberga, who directs that convent 
with sach prudence (may thy modesty pardon me, 
Eeverend Mother!) Now, thou knowest that my 
friend the Margrave of Brunn, the young Ottocar, 
met my daughter accidentally. He asked me for 
her in marriage, but, on comparing my rank with 


Snares, 


155 


his, I frankly refused; but it was of no avail. 
The Prince insisted, and in such a manner that I 
was obliged to yield. Sfeill, I would not abuse my 
paternal authority; I pray thee, then, to see 
Yoland, my dear friend, and persuade her to listen 
to the proposal of the Margrave.’ 

Thou seest, my child, that it is unnecessary to 
discourse any longer to make thee see the advan¬ 
tages of the good fortune which has befallen thee. 
Thy future husband is young, brave, rich, and 
powerful; thou art a stranger, favored but little by 
the gifts of fortune, of birth obscure, compared to 
that of the young Prince ; he gives thee a coronet, 
he makes thee lady and mistress of so many cities 
and peoples ; what folly it would be to refuse the 
magnificent alliance he offers thee ! Thy father, 
confined to the house by an accident, asks .thee to 
accept it; he prays thee, by the paternal affection 
which he bears thee, and thy mother adds, that if 
thou dost refuse, it will be death to her.” 

The two women were silent for a moment, when 
suddenly, Yoland, as if struck by a sudden thought, 
looked the monk in the face, and said to him : 

But, Father, pardon me the question, what 
sign canst thou give me that thou art really sent by 
my lord and father ? ” 

Thou art right,” answered the villain. Pan- 
dolph, knowing that thy prudence is beyond thy 
years, foresaw thy request, and causing to be 
brought to him a little statue of Our Lady, to 
whom thou hast a great devotion, and which stood 
at the head of thy bed, he gave it to me, saying: 


Snares, 


156 

* Bear that to my daughter from me and in my 
name.’ ” 

So saying, he drew from his wallet the ivory Vir¬ 
gin of which we know, and placed it on the table. 

0 dear and sacred image ! ” cried the young 
girl, I recognize thee. Thou wert the joy of my 
childhood, thou shalt be the consolation of my 
youth; never more shalt thou leave me. Thou 
shalt henceforth be my counsellor, my guardian, 
my protectress, my guide through the paths of this 
world. 0 sweetness of my life ! 0 light and love 
of my soul I” 

How fortunate I am,” replied the impostor, 
to have brought with me the image of the Divine 
Mother. There she is, question her. She will tell 
thee to be submissive to the will of thy father, to 
the desires of her who gave thee birth, to the 
wishes of the mighty lord who would obtain thy 
hand. How, let us see; tell me what shall I an¬ 
swer the Margrave of Brunn.” 

Thou wilt answer,” said Yoland, looking at 
Theotberga, that I can decide on nothing till I 
have first spoken to my father.” 

‘^How,” cried the traitor, coloring with rage, 
“wouldst thou be senseless enough, rash enough, 
to answer the Margrave in such an indecorous 
manner ? ” 

Pardon, Pather,” said the Abbess, coldly, but 
Yoland is now giving the answer that all prudent 
young girls should give in such cases. Even ac¬ 
cording to thine own words, Pandolph’s illness will 
not be of long duration; he will come hither and 


Snares, 


157 

see his daughter* In wishing to await the arrival 
of her father, it seems to me that she neither 
ofEends the Margrave nor thee.” 



CHAPTER VIIL 

TKOUBADOUKS AlTD MAGICIAKS. 

Ho tongue, no pen can describe the anger oi 
Ottocar when he saw his schemes frustrated for the 
second time. It was the unlucky messenger who 
felt its first effects : he loaded him with curses, in¬ 
sults, and abuse. 

Marry ! ’’ cried the young man, beyond himself 
with rage, behold the rare genius which reads 
the heavens, which weighs the influence of the 
stars, which directs the planets in their course, and 
regulates the progress of the sun and moon. Igno¬ 
rant, unskilful impostor ! who couldst not persuade 
a child nor conquer an old woman. He speaks 
marvellously well, and makes himself an oracle to 
fools, who believe in his doubtful science, in his 
dark mysteries, his diabolical magic, but let some 
one resist him, and the coward yields and flies. 
Away from here ! take thyself out of my sight. . . 
I know not what keeps me from splitting thy skull 
with my axe ! ’’ 

At first the astrologer was a little disconcerted by 
this apostrophe, but recovering himself immedi¬ 
ately, and assuming a manner at once frightened 

and assured, he said to his young master : 

158 




Troubadours and Magicians. 159 

I am concerned even to the very depth of my 
soul, my lord, that I succeeded not in accomplish¬ 
ing thy will, but deign to remember that no one 
has ever yet succeeded in finding out the secret of 
conquering the obstinacy of a woman when it en- 
tereth her mind to say no. Yea, seeking to make 
her change her mind is like striving to jump over 
one’s own shadow. Much gentleness and patience 
are needed with them, and in such fashion must 
they be taken, and in the end one may overcome 
without difficulty a resolution which twenty yoke 
of oxen, or even of elephants, could not have 
shaken. Try other means. Thy court containeth 
troubadours and minstrels of great talent. They 
can sing to the lute or mandoline the sweetest and 
softest strains. Seek to discover if Yoland’s room 
doth open on the meadow which surroundeth the 
convent, then do thou send, for several successive 
nights, one or other of thy troubadours, who will 
sing to her the most touching of his ballads and ro¬ 
mances, especially those which are best suited to 
thy case. Thou hast here Godevise of Aquitaine, 
Hildegarde of Lotharingia, who playeth ravishingly 
upon the harp ; then, Cleto of Spoleto, whose song 
surpasses that of the linnet and the nightingale.” 

In truth, thy counsel is good,” cried Ottocar. 
^^Swatiza.. . . here, make it thy business to learn 
if Yoland’s windows open on the meadow. Go 
then to my singers and tell them I would speak 
with them. That they attract Yoland to the bal¬ 
cony is all I ask . . . and they will find it to their 
gain.” 


i6o Troubadoiirs and Magicians, 

The Convent of Brunn was situated about a 
league from the city, in a pleasant though retired 
spot; an ancient park surrounded it with its thick 
shade, under which ran a clear and limpid stream, 
divided into two branches, one of which flowed be¬ 
side the high walls of the convent and the orchard, 
and at the foot of the church, and then lost itself 
in the neighboring meadow. To enter either the 
convent or the church, it was necessary to cross 
this moat on a handsome brown stone bridge ; and 
as the keepers of the place took care to pluck up 
weeds and aquatic plants which grew up around 
it, nothing impeded the view from the outer win¬ 
dows of the building of the pure waters which ran 
beneath. The bridge leading to the principal door 
was movable ; the warders raised it after Compline, 
and only lowered it after Prime. The outer walls 
were extremely steep, as far as the stone enclosure, 
above which arose the four immense turrets to the 
side of the ediflce, lit by balcony windows, whence 
a view of the country, and, in the summer evenings, 
the cool night breeze, might be enjoyed. 

The interior of the convent was immense ; it con¬ 
tained, on the ground floor, several cloisters with 
covered galleries, where, during the winter or on 
rainy days, when the snow covered the flelds, gar¬ 
dens, and meadows, the religious could walk and 
the pupils take their recreation. Outside of this 
was the guest-house^^ laid out in spacious apart- 

* This was tlie name given in convents to that part of the 
building reserved for strangers. 


Troubadours and Magicians. i6i 

ments, for at that period hospitality was freely 
given to pilgrims, and a miraculous statue of the 
Blessed Virgin, which was in the convent church, 
attracted thither every day a large number of 
them. On one side were the buildings reserved 
for the pupils; only their parents could enter 
there, and principally when they came to see a 
child that was sick; and, finally, still further on, 
were the apartments of the religious, which an 
enclosure rendered inaccessible to lay persons, 
except in the richly-furnished portion which be¬ 
longed to the Abbess. 

In the halls on the ground floor, three hundred 
poor persons were received every day after dinner, 
and soup, bread, and beer, a dish of bacon or of 
salt meat, were distributed to them. 

To accustom her pupils to have compassion on 
the unfortunate, the pious Abbess often sent some 
of them to assist the lay Sisters in this work of 
charity, that these young girls might well un¬ 
derstand all the merits which there lay in humbling 
one’s self at the feet of those whom Jesus Christ 
called his brothers. Theotberga only permitted 
those whose conduct was irreproachable to go 
down. Yoland, however, begged so hard, and her 
behavior was so edif3dng in all respects, that she had 
obtained permission to go down every day to these 
poor women to console and serve them. And, 
truly, the noble child performed the task wonder¬ 
fully ; she seemed to seek out the most aged, the 
most infirm, and waited on them with such solici¬ 
tude as to be really touching. 


162 Troubadours and Magicians, 

To discover if Yolandas room opened on tlie gar¬ 
den, and to know just where it was situated, the 
fiendish Swatiza addressed herself to one of the 
poor women who seemed best suited to her pur¬ 
pose, saying: 

Good woman, make it thy business to find out 
where Yoland sleeps, but be prudent . . . ask her, 
as if it came from thyself alone, and, above all, let 
none hear thee; try to tell me, too, on what story 
and what is the number of her window . . . there 
are so many ! . . . 

Ay, marry, there are, even on the outside—there 
are as many as days in the year; this convent is 
so large ! Imagine the inside, every Sister has two, 
and the Abbess more than twenty, it would seem. 
Dost thou wish to be a religious ? 

‘^Aye, aye ! the world has but little charms for 
me, and if I would be received. . 

But... in truth . . . why wouldst thou, then, 
know Yoland’s window ? How would that avail 
thee ? . . . 

Oh ! that would not avail me at all . . . still, 
I will tell thee. The other evening I laid a wager 
with one of my companions. We were passing 
along by the walls of the convent, just at night¬ 
fall, when the swallows come and go in search of 
insects which form their food. One of them, whose 
nest hung from the arches of one of the windows, 
after flying hither and thither, would return in 
great haste, feed her little ones, whilst another, 
flying around in his turn, would come to the same 
nest, and so on with all of them. Seeing this, I could 


Troubadours and Magicians, 163 

not refrain from saying: ^ I warrant me, that 
would be the window of Yoland.’ ‘And where¬ 
fore ? ’ asked my companion. ‘ Wherefore ? ^ said 
I ; ‘ ah ! because it is the window of a maiden so 
charitable that the swallows themselves recognize 
her and have placed their nesfc 'neath her protec¬ 
tion. Thou dost not credit me ? ’ ‘ No—let us 
wager a cake.’ ‘Aye! let us wager.’ And to as¬ 
sure myself of it, I have had recourse to thee, who 
seest her every day.” 

“Aye, I see her every day, . . . and great is 
her .goodness to me I If thou but knewest, she is 
indeed a pearl of maidenhood. We name her the 
Angel of Providence,' because here she serveth with 
her own hands, there she doth kindness, and some 
days she bringeth us the best portion of her own 
dinner. But canst thou guess what she doth for 
us whilst the lay Sister brings us our soup ? She 
combs our hair, mends our rags, and even—can I 
say it ?—cuts our nails with her pretty little white 
hands, and meanwhile we weep with gratitude, and 
bless her a thousand times.” 

A short time after this interview, one clear, calm 
night, just as the moon was rising above the hori¬ 
zon, the sweet sounds of a lute accompanied by a 
harp were heard among the trees in the park. It 
was very dark underneath the thick foliage ; the 
palm trees, intertwined, shut out the rays of the 
moon ; not a leaf trembled in the breeze ; the 
ripples of the little stream, which flowed beside the 
convent walls, seemed to glide more silently, the 
moon to light up the dormitory windows with a 


164 Troubadours and Magicians. 

calmer reflection ; in the whole neighborhood all 
nature seemed at rest. After the first chords 
came a soft and mournful symphony, then a tender 
and mellow voice sent on the night breeze a song 
so expressive, so full of feeling, that it went to the 
depths of the heart. 

Whilst the plaintive song was heard amid the 
trees, accompanied by the sweet and harmonious 
music of a harp, in the moonlight, several windows 
were seen to open, and heads were thrust furtively 
out to enjoy the nocturnal music ; but the eighth 
window, which was that of Yoland, remained obsti¬ 
nately closed. Then the song recommenced, but 
in a more animated strain. 

Wherefore,” resumed the voice, wherefore, 
0 maiden! wilt thou refuse so brilliant an alliance ? 
Tearest thou that my song will soften thee ? Dost 
thou tremble lest the chords of my harp and lute 
may render thee less inexorable? This mighty lord 
is the noblest and the bravest of the young knights 
of Moravia; none other knoweth better how to 
curb a fiery courser, or spend his strength in the 
forest on the path of the swift-flying deer, or guide 
him in the battle, or reign him in the tournament. 
No other knight weareth so brilliant a breastplate, 
so magnificent a crest, nor doth other hand more 
skilfully manage a sword. He is, in one word, the 
flower of kniglithood, the joy of his court; and 
yet it is to thee alone that he oflereth his hand, his 
throne, and his jewelled diadem.” 

And the song went on still sweeter and more 
harmonious, when, through the shadow of the wood. 


Troubadours and Magicians. 165 

came a knight clad in armor. He raised his visor 
and paused to listen, seeming deeply agitated. It 
was Ottocar himself, who, impatient to know the 
effect of the serenade, had followed the musicians. 
But the window remained pitilessly closed, whilst 
those of the other pupils opened one after another, 
and even from time to time, on the lower story, ap¬ 
peared the face of a lay sister whom curiosity had 
attracted, but the eighth window did not open for 
an instant. Therefore, as the white light of the 
dawn began to streak the eastern horizon, the band 
of singers returned to Brunn, escorted by the young 
Margrave. On the following day, the nocturnal 
serenade was the subject of conversation through¬ 
out the convent, the more so that no one could 
guess the intention of him who had given it. Yo- 
land listened in silence, but after Tierce she went 
to the Abbess, explained to her the hidden mean¬ 
ing of the minstrels’ words, begging her at the same 
time to change her room. 

The period of which we are endeavoring to give 
a sketch was full of superstition, to which the pro¬ 
found ignorance of the tenth century had given rise. 
The people united to a lively faith in Jesus Christ 
the ancient prejudices of the nations beyond the 
mountains, whence they had taken their origin. 
Therefore, as we have said in the preceding chapters, 
many of these Teuton and Slavic tribes being still 
new to the Christian faith, retained something of 
their native rudeness and natural barbarity; they 
disdained to submit to many of the civil laws, 
making right and justice consist in brute force. 


l66 Troubadours and Magicians. 

and wlien this failed them, they did not hesi¬ 
tate to have recourse to supernatural means. 
It was thus that, in their quarrels, whether 
public or private, they rendered the Divinity itself 
the arbiter of their cause, and had recourse to the 
ordeal of boiling* water or that of fire, and to single 
combat, and this was what they called the judg¬ 
ment of God. Did a quarrel take place between 
two warriors?—they fought a duel, and he who was 
killed, wounded, or vanquished was declared guilty. 
Was a man accused of theft or murder, and was 
ignorant of the handling of arms ?—he invoked the 
judgment of God. For that purpose a great fire 
was kindled, and when the blaze was burning hot¬ 
test, the accused darted in and rushed through it; 
if he came out safe and sound, the people pro¬ 
claimed his innocence. 

The Church, ever gentle and wise, held these or¬ 
deals in abhorrence, and earnestly recommended the 
bishops to teach these rude and credulous Chris¬ 
tians that they must not demand miracles of God, 
that it is tempting him, and that he gave them 
reason and laws to decide on justice or injustice ; 
but it was not easy to enlighten these stolid minds 
and to restrain these brutal souls. The laws not 
being severe, men despised them; they preferred 
to have recourse to personal vengeance, which but 
too often passed as an inheritance from generation 
to generation. This is why the Church establish¬ 
ed the Truces of God, which were times consecrated 
to prayer and penance, and during which they were 
forbidden to fight with or kill an adversary. Dur- 


Troubadours and Magicians. 167 

ing these truces, all those who took part in a duel, 
a passage-at-arms, or a judgment of God were sen¬ 
tenced to interdict or excommunication. These pe- 
laods comprised the whole of Advent, the festivals 
of Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost, and the holy 
season of Lent. The neighborhood of churches, 
persons who went to Mass, and the three last days 
of each week, fell also under the protection of these 
truces. They were so much respected, that to dis¬ 
regard them would draw on any one the penalties 
of the Church and the execration of the people. It 
was even thought a pious work to pursue the viola¬ 
tor, cast him into prison, and even put him to death. 
The delinquents were banished from their family 
and their country ; they wandered like Cain, bear¬ 
ing with them remorse for their crime, and the fear 
of being known and punished by every one. And 
yet many men in our own day say that the Church in 
the Middle Ages was tyrannical, whilst it is to her 
alone we owe the mildness of onr present customs, 
the security of person and property, and a tran¬ 
quillity unknown in those times of barbarism and 
violence, when the stronger always imposed on the 
milder and weaker. 

From this tendency to have recourse to the super¬ 
natural arose, in corrupt minds, the desire of in¬ 
voking evil spirits, to obtain by their aid the de¬ 
sired object. In those hapless ages, men had more 
than ever recourse to spells, charms, to magic and 
the conjuring of the devil. There were men and 
women who, according to the example of the Py¬ 
thons and Pythonesses of antiquity, invoked the 


168 Troubadours and Magicians, 

fihades of the dead, questioned the spirits of dark¬ 
ness to know the future, and to compel the devil 
to annoy their enemies in every possible way. They 
besought him to aid with his power all those who in¬ 
voked him, who consecrated themselves to him, or 
signed a compact with him. 

Ottocar, absorbed in his plans, could not resign 
himself to the thought of being vanquished. He 
trampled under foot his sworn faith to the Duke 
of Moravia that he would enter his family, he de¬ 
spised the just anger of his father, his own honor 
and glory, safety, and the peace of his vassals. 
Guided by the devil, who possessed him, his mind 
adopted and rejected in turn a thousand extreme 
resolutions. It is said that passion is blind; now, 
one who permits himself to be led by a blind per¬ 
son cannot fail to fall into an abyss. Ottocar, who 
was a Christian and a sovereign, and according to 
all laws, divine and human, obliged to punish sor¬ 
cerers by fiery torments, had recourse himself to 
these very persons. He again summoned before 
him the two astrologers, who pretended to be initi¬ 
ated into the most secret mysteries of Arabic 
science, and thus addressed them : 

‘‘Verily, ye are skilful men! I pay ye to aid 
me with your sorcery, and hitherto ye have given 
me only words; all your sublime science has been 
of no use to me. Ye have told me that Yoland 
would in very truth bestow her hand on me, that 
she cometh of royal lineage, and it chanceth pre¬ 
cisely that she refuseth my alliance, and is of low 
origin. If ye are men, verify your promises, or I 


Troubadours and Magicians. 169 

will proclaim that they are but the tricks of impos¬ 
tors. Ye have told me a hundred times that ye 
had secrets to obscure the sun, rob the moon of her 
rays, overturn vessels at sea, open the doors of hell, 
and bring thence legions of demons. Get, ye, then, 
to work : the moment is come !” 

My lord,” replied the impostors, we will accom¬ 
plish all,thy plans, but if we succeed thou must be 
of good heart. Thou art a valiant knight, an 
intrepid hunter, but thou knowest not what it is to 
fight with hell. Give us three days and three nights, 
and do thou, for thy part, prepare for the combat.” 

The two magicians then betook themselves to 
their laboratories, they set to work with their fur¬ 
naces, crucibles, alembics, and charms. They col¬ 
lected together coals dipped in the blood of a man 
hung when the moon was on the wane, and kindled 
them with a bellows made of the skin of a lamb. 
They procured the hair of a murdered woman, the 
left hand of a corpse exhumed by the wolves, some 
drops of the milk of a dog, a vulture’s head, three 
grains of incense, the skin of an asp killed and 
burned during the dog-days, some particles of salt¬ 
petre, some of mineral salt, and a globule of quick¬ 
silver. They mixed one portion of these things, 
burned another, boiled a third, and reduced the 
fourth to powder; then, by the power of magic 
words, spells, and invocations, they charmed and 
enchanted every thing. Finally, one night, they 
repaired to Ottocar’s room and awakened him from 
his first sleep, saying : 

Kise, my lord, and follow us.” 


I/O Troubadours and Magicians, 

The ancient castle of Brunn stood on an 
enormous mass of rocks. At the foot of this 
pile, just below the foundations, on the level 
ground, was the mouth of a well which con¬ 
cealed a trap-door of iron. To raise it there was 
a chain, attached to a great roller, supported by 
two iron stakes driven into the margin of the well. 
At the entrance was a ]pair of stairs without any 
wall of support, which, in turn, went down into the 
bowels of the rock on which the castle was built. 
Having reached the bottom of that abyss, there was 
a long gallery, formed somewhat like the hold of a 
ship, on each side of which were low, narrow open¬ 
ings, closed by three large stones, giving entrance 
to small cells. In these places unfortunate prison¬ 
ers had been buried alive ; here they had died of 
hunger, misery, and suffering, and their corpses 
remained fastened to the iron rings and collars 
which had restrained them, until they rotted, and 
only the hideous skeletons remained. 

It was into this horrible dungeon that the two 
magicians, furnished with torches which gave forth 
a dismal light mingled with a thick smoke, now led 
the terrified young man. They stopped, scooped a 
hole in the ground with an iron rod which they 
held, killed therein a black hen, uttering fearful 
imprecations, and cast upon it some particles of salt 
and incense, and covered it all over with the earth 
which they had dug up. They then laid thereon 
the hair of the woman, the hand of the corpse, the 
head of the vulture, the skin of the serpent, and 
with their iron rod they traced on the ground a 


Troubadours and Magicians. 171 

large circle whicli enclosed it all. This being fin¬ 
ished, they began to clothe the Margrave in his 
armor, and while adjusting his breastplate and heh 
met they muttered some mysterious words ; they 
made him enter the circle, and gave him a strong 
double-edged sword ; they lit and arranged around 
him seven tapers, then leaping themselves into the 
magic circle with their implements, they began their 
conjurations, and traced on the ground their cabal¬ 
istic signs and figures. 

Scarcely had they finished their unhallowed rites 
than the earth with which the slain hen was covered 
began to swell, to bubble, to groan, and suddenly sent 
forth a stream of seething blood, which shot up to 
the ceiling; lurid lightning, accompanied by the roll¬ 
ing of thunder, fiashed from the depths of each of 
the fearful cells which we have before described. The 
dried bones within them recovered motion, arose, 
and, joining together, formed frightful skeletons, 
with ghastly skulls, sightless orbs, whence pro¬ 
ceeded streams of fire, whilst their teeth chattered 
in their empty jaws, and their bony and fieshless 
hands wratlifully shook the links of their chains. 
The earth trembled; the air was full of sounds ; the 
pit gave forth a hollow moaning. 

Then the magicians uttered, in the Arab and Ethi¬ 
opian tongues, ac9ursed words, they neighed like 
horses, barked like dogs, howled like wolves, roared 
like lions, clapping their hands violently, making 
contortions, furiously beating the air, taking earth 
from the pit and flinging it around them. In the 
centre of the circle was placed a chafing-dish full of 


172 Troubadours and Magicians, 

burning coals—into this they threw handfuls of 
salt, which hissed and crackled in the flames, 
pinches of nitre, which sent out a shower of sparks, 
morsels of resin, which produced a dense and suffo¬ 
cating smoke. Then came suddenly a profound 
silence; they raised their hands, pointed to the 
west with their index finger, and cried in a piercing 
voice : 

Thou ! who art afar! wherefore delayest thou ? 
0 mighty monarch I I tell thee ... it is thee 
I would see. Why comest thou not ? Appear, or 
I will conjure thee in another fashion than by 
words.” 

Then away at the end of the corridor burst a 
light so dazzling that all were blinded ; it was fol¬ 
lowed by so fearful a crash of thunder that they 
trembled lest the roof should fall in upon them; 
and, behold, from their dark cells dart the skele¬ 
tons of the murdered victims ; their aspect is terri¬ 
ble ; furiously they rush towards the three men, 
seeking to pass the magic circle. 

Strike, Ottocar!” cried the sorcerers—strike 
pitilessly with sword and steel; for woe to us if they 
penetrate into the circle.” 

Ottocar needed not a second bidding, he struck 
unceasingly to right and left, backwards and for¬ 
wards, made thrusts at the heads, warded off the 
hands which sought to seize him, and the heads de¬ 
tached themselves and rolled on the ground, and 
the convulsed hands took them from the ground and 
threw them in the faces of the magicians, and from 
their wounds issued blood, and fire, and smoke. 



Troubadours and Magicians, 173 

Ay! what meaneth this obstinacy ? ’’ cried the 
necromancers. What boldness ! what rage ! Be¬ 
gone, ye accursed ! It is not ye we seek ; it is Ara- 
chiel.’' 

Saying these words, they drew from their wallets 
two handfuls of iron-filings and threw them at these 
spectres, who vanished immediately when a particle 
touched them ; in an instant, the cave was plunged 
in profound darkness. 

Arachiel cried the magicians, ^^Arachiel! 
vouchsafe to come to us; come and drink. This 
cup, full ot blood which is yet warm, will quench thy 
thirst ; it is the blood of a robber lately put to 
death. 

They were still speaking when a lion suddenly 
appeared beside them; he advanced with a timid 
air, and with his fiery tongue licked up all tho 
blood which they offered him, then disappeared. 

At this sudden apparition the necromancers 
blasphemed in their rage, and had recourse to new 
conjurations, more frightful still than the former ; 
therefore, after some moments, a monstrous and 
fearful figure appeared at the further end of the 
gallery, crying in a voice ol thunder : 

‘‘Woe is me i woe is me ! Thy dark art forces 
me, indeed, to appear, but it cannot compel me to de¬ 
ceive the youthful Yoland. A power more mighty 
than mine protecteth her—the ring repulseth me, 
the ring is invincible, anci li I still persevered in seek¬ 
ing to conquer her, the ring would be riveted around 
me, like another fiery chain, for my torment.’'’ 

“ Of what ring dost thou speak, father of lies 1 


174 Trotibadours and Magicians. 

Thy tricks are known to ns. Hasten to obey ns, or 
if not . . 7’ 

‘‘I cannot, I tell ye. Anselm^s ring opposeth me, 
Anselm, who maketh deadly war on ns, and who 
gave to Yoland this protecting ring, the stone of 
which bears a cross as a seal. Yoland weareth it 
ever on her finger. Who, then, can approach this 
maiden ? Or approach we her, who wonld dare to 
attack her ? Or granted even that we attack her, 
who conld conqner ? . . 

Thon liest, for thou knowest well that thou 
hast already vanqnished venerable men who made 
profession of living entirely according to the 
cross.” 

Yea, bnt wonld ye know wherefore I sncceeded 
in vanqnishing them ? Becanse they carried the 
cross without being crucified. They bore, indeed, 
the cross, if ye will, but they had it not in heart or 
mind. They wore it as an ornament or for vanity, 
bnt, betimes, they despised it in their words or in 
their deeds. As for Yoland, she acteth not thus, 
she IS pure and just, and beareth the cross more in 
her heart than in her hand. Anselm blessed that 
ring, and Yoland’s innocence and Anselm’s bene¬ 
diction repulse ns.” 

Craven ! where, then, is thy pride which made 
thy strength ? What of all thy vaunts, thou who 
boasted that thou couldst resist even the tetragram- 
maton How cansttbou let thyself be vanquished 
by a poor weak mortal ? Who is this Anselm 

* The three letters, LH.S., Jesu Hominum »SaZrafor—Jesus 
the Saviour of men. 


Troubadours and Magicians. 175 

Is it indeed needful to inform tliee ? He is the 
Bishop of Lucca, nephew of that Alexander II. on 
whom I waged incessant warfare when he occupied 
the fisherman’s throne, and whom I still pursue in 
his successor Gregory. Against the first I raised up for 
adversaries Cadolaiis and the bad German and Lom¬ 
bard priests ; to the second I oppose Gilbert’s pride, 
the evil lives of some of the clergy, and the avarice of 
the nobility. The perfidious Anselm defeats me in 
every encounter with the spiritual weapons of his 
uncle ; he snatcheth from me, at every instant, the 
most precious conquests which I have gained within 
the sanctuary. Not content with having deprived me 
of them, he exhorteth them in such fashion that in 
their turn the traitors become my enemies, and 
rescue a number of people whom I retain captive in 
the shackles of sin. But I have returned him in 
ample measure all the evil which he hath done 
me. He took away my prey, I admit, but three 
priests, inspired by me, brave and determined men, 
who are besides supported by powerful factions, 
aeprived him of his bishopric and had him ban¬ 
ished from Lucca. Still—would ye believe it ?—he 
aotli not hold himself for vanquished, and with the 
design of insulting me still more he hath taken the 
monastic habit. He hath redoubled his austerities, 
vigils, ana fasts, by his prayers and example hath 
taken from me more partisans even than by his dis¬ 
course. May tne lightning blast the wretch ! 

“ This IS not yet all. Gregory, just wlien reduced 
to the utmost distress by my efforts, made him the 
confessoi\ director and counsellor of that infamous 


176 Troubadours and Magicians, 

witch whom they call Mathilda. 0 rage I . . , 
Anselm giveth her neither rest nor peace ; he pray- 
eth, he urgeth, he inspireth Mathilda to make cruel 
war upon me ; she alone defeateth and overthrow- 
eth all my plans. I snatched the young Prince 
Henry from the hands of the Ahhot Odon ; he would 
haye made him a pure and devout man, submissive 
to the Holy See ; I confided him to the guidance of 
certain mighty barons, my vassals, my faithful 
servants, who in that still tender soul have sown 
those errors of mind, vices of heart, which produce 
fruits very sweet to my taste, and still more flat¬ 
tering hopes for the future. My friends have 
exceeded my hopes; under the specious pretext of 
the inalienable rights of the crown, they urge him 
obstinately to retain possession of investitures, and 
to sustain an Anti-Pope against Gregory. But 
what!—did not that miserable Anselm prove to 
Mathilda that Gregory is the lawful Pope, and 
thereupon this woman, by means of letters, mes¬ 
sages, tact, and negotiation, hath almost succeeded 
in leading the German Princes to abandon the 
cause of Henry IV., and even, in part, to reconcile 
Henry himself with Gregory. 

Ye are awara that the Germanic Empire is not 
hereditary, like other kingdoms or states. It is 
electoral, and was created by the Pope for Charle¬ 
magne, on condition that he would defend the 
Church and maintain peace in Western Europe. 
Another Pope created the Electors and gave them 
this appointment of the imperial election. Now, 
Henry, who is not destitute of a certain wisdom. 


Troubadours and Magicians, 177 

reasoned tlins : ^ If my election is entirely the 

work of the Pope, and if, in exchange for that 
benefit, I quarrel with the Church and disturb the 
West, the Sovereign Pontiff can depose me and 
cause another to be elected in my place.’ This 
thought maketh the Prince incline towards peace, 
to the great joy of Mathilda and Anselm, and in 
consequence, I lose in this manner thousands of 
souls whom I already considered my own pro¬ 
perty. It must be confessed that this Anselm is a 
plague to me ; wheresoever he interferes, no mat¬ 
ter how trifling the cause, things go not well in my 
regard; and judge, therefore, if I can undertake 
aught against Yoland, who weareth on her finger a 
ring blessed by this man. And, mark well that 
he knoweth her not, hath never seen her. He once 
gave this ring to a monk, who gave it to a 
strange hermit, a friend of that old dog of an Abbot 
Daufer, the secret, but, alas! all-powerful pro¬ 
tector of this Yoland. As soon as he knew the de¬ 
signs of Ottocar, he secretly sent, through the me¬ 
dium of Theotberga, the ring blessed by Anselm, in 
order to defend her against all charms and snares.” 

At this revelation; the two magicians looked at 
each other in consternation ; they felt their cour¬ 
age failing. Still, to put a good face on the mat¬ 
ter, they resumed : 

Arachiel ! valiant champion of hell! be not dis¬ 
couraged, let not thy heart fail thee, collect all thy 
forces, sharpen thy wits, assemble all thy confeder¬ 
ates, in a word, aid us with all thy resources; we 
depend on thee.” 


178 Troubadours and Magicians, 

Friends,” replied the demon, I can do naught 
against her, be assured of that; all that I can do 
is to torment her with phantoms of terror, to raise 
up enemies and rude combats. Beyond that I may 
do naught.” 

He ceased, and immediately disappeared with a 
horrible noise, emitting from all sides a shower of 
stones and splinters of rock, and filling the dismal 
place with a dense sulphureous smoke. 

Entirely absorbed in their hellish rites, the two 
sorcerers had not noticed Ottocar ; they turned to¬ 
wards him, and found him pale and breathless. 
His hand had unsheathed his sword, his knees were 
shaking under him with terror, his staring eyes, 
open, were fixed, and vacant with fright and stu¬ 
por. 

They hastened to render him assistance, rubbed 
him with vinegar and spirits, so as to restore him to 
consciousness. The unhappy young man at length 
came to himself, but he looked haggard and be¬ 
wildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen on him; 
he tried to rise, but he fell back in a faint. 



CHAPTER IX. 

TEMPTATIOIT AKD VIOLENCE. 

The niglit was dark and disturbed by one of 
those tempests which so often occur during the 
summer in the southern parts of Europe, accom¬ 
panied by lightning and thunder. Yoland, startled 
from her sleep by a fearful peal, trembled, and, 
sitting upright, remained motionless with terror. 
A thousand distressing thoughts had filled her 
mind during the last few days, because she had 
learned that her father, having left his house and 
closed it up, had departed hurriedly from Znaim 
with Adeltrude, her mother, without saying whence 
they were going nor when they would return. 
The Abbot Daufer had secretly communicated 
this news to Theotberga, who had transmitted it to 
Yoland, that she might return thanks to God for 
having preserved her from falling into the snare of 
the false monk. 

This last incident deeply afflicted her; she con¬ 
nected it with the insidious words of Swatiza, the 
concerts which had been given her during the 
night, and she saw clearly that the young Mar¬ 
grave of Brunn was firmly resolved to use every ar¬ 
tifice and stratagem. She said to lierself that her 



i8o Temptatio 7 i and Violence. 

father’s departure left her almost at the mercy of 
this infatuated man, and that the prudence of 
Theotherga, the affection which she bore her, and 
respect for the holy place in which she dwelt, were, 
after all, but a feeble protection. These reflections 
oppressed and saddened her mind, and filled her 
with despondency ; and yet, at times, a sweet feel¬ 
ing would come over her which consoled her in 
her sorrow and dispelled her sadness. She had be¬ 
fore her eyes her little statue of the Blessed Virgin— 
that image which she had so unexpectedly received, 
and as the false sign of a perfidious and sacrilegious 
plot which Mary herself had so miraculously ex¬ 
posed. 

0 my beloved Mother ! ” said Yoland, clasping 
the holy image to her heart, thou who wert the 
first confidant of my young affections, who didst 
receive with such goodness my childhood’s lisping 
prayer; thou who didst guide my trembling steps, 
who didst inspire me with a salutary fear of God, 
and a pure and tender love of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, oh ! I beseech thee, abandon me not in the 
trials which await me. Thou knowest my igno¬ 
rance, my weakness, and my loneliness ; be to me 
a clear light, a powerful protectress, and a tender 
mother. It is in thee I place my hope and my 
safety ; suffer not that which is called my beauty 
to be a cause of sin to my neighbor; and rather 
tlian permit that it should offend God, let it be 
lessened by sickness, disfigured by sorrow, or let it 
disappear in death.” 

Whilst Yoland thus prayed with fervor and ten- 


Temptatio 7 i and Violence, i8l 

derness, and at each flash of lightning or peal of 
thunder pressed thje venerated image more af¬ 
fectionately to her heart, she saw, or rather thought 
she saw, all at once, after a vivid flash of lightning, 
the farther end of her room opening, as if the wall 
had been removed. A gloomy wood was before her, 
and therein she saw a young man walking pensive 
and sad. It was Ottocar. At this sight Yolandas 
heart froze with terror, her blood stopped flowing, 
a cold sweat covered her forehead ; she trembled 
violently in all her limbs, which seemed as if turn¬ 
ed to ice. She would have flown, but she felt as if 
nailed to the bed ; she would have screamed, but a 
hand of iron seemed to stifle her voice in her 
throat; she would have turned away her eyes from 
this sight, but the gloomy wood and Ottocar’s 
image pursued her everywhere, in spite of herself. 

Suddenly a noise is heard in the foliage ; it in¬ 
creases, it comes nearer, and she sees an enormous 
hear coming out of the foliage ; with glaring eyes 
andhis teeth gnashing, he falls upon Ottocar, seizing 
him in his dreadful claws. Although taken by 
surprise, the knight draws his sword, puts himseK 
on his guard, and tries to defend himself; but the 
sjjring which the fierce beast made upon him was 
so sudden, the place so narrow, the ground so 
covered with thorns and briers, that the young man 
trips at every step and cannot advance ; the bear 
becomes infuriated, and, burying his great claws in 
his adversary’s breast, he tears him, drags him to 
the earth, and tramples upon him with renewed 
blows. Ottocar falls to the ground, and the vie- 


182 Temptation and Violence. 

torious beast retires to the depth of the forest. 
Stretched on the ground, pale, dying, the wounded 
man calls upon Yoland, who hastens towards him, 
touched and filled with pity. He shows her his 
wounds, from which streams of blood are pouring ; 
he begs her to wipe away the sweat which stands in 
thick drops on his forehead, to close his eyes, and 
to receive his last sigh. 

At this sight Yoland is moved to compassion; 
her heart beats, her breath fails, and she is about 
to render to the dying man the melancholy services 
which he asks. The effort which she makes restores 
her to herself. The image of the Blessed Virgin has 
sli^Dped away from her ; she seeks it, groping about 
on the bed, finds it, presses it tenderly to her lips, 
and raises it to her forehead to make the sign of 
the cross; but she has scarcely done so than the 
terrible vision disappears, and she finds herself 
sitting up in bed, calm, composed, and tranquil. 

Another night she was suddenly awakened by a 
deep groan beside her bed. She opened her eyes. 
, . . Great God ! what a sight! . . . Pandolph is 
Ottocar’s prisoner : he kneels and extends his suppli¬ 
cating hands, loaded with chains. Ottocar is beside 
him, holding him by the hair with one hand, and 
with the other brandishing a dagger. His eyes are 
wild, his voice furious : Pandolph !” shouts he— 

Pandolph ! grant me the hand of thy daughter, or 
I will bury this iron in thy heart.” The unfortu¬ 
nate victim seeks in vain to soften the infatuated 
man ; he looks at Yoland with a despairing glance, 
and seems to say to her : Thou seest, my child, 


Temptation and Violence, 183 

thou must decide to give him thy hand, and by that 
means to save my life ; or, if thou persistest in thy 
refusal, thou must prepare to see me slain before 
thine eyes ! ” Tins cruel spectacle—a father’s 
danger, his beseeching looks—agitated Yoland to 
the very depth of her soul; she was about to dart 
forward to arrest the murderer’s arm and cry, 

Stop ! ” to the assassin. .... But as she at¬ 
tempted to leave her couch, she signed herself with 
the little statue . . . and it all disappeared in an 
instant. Yoland came to herself ; she was bathed 
in an icy sweat, and was so weak that she could 
scarcely support herself. 

These visions were the work of Arachiel, the de¬ 
mon evoked by the two magicians. But Yoland 
knew not to what cause she must attribute these 
painful apparitions. She was seized with melan¬ 
choly ; she abandoned herself to her grief, seek¬ 
ing solitude and silence, and often feeling a palpi¬ 
tation, an anxiety, and an oppression on her heart 
which greatly alarmed her. Vainly did her com¬ 
panions endeavor to cheer her; vainly did they 
seek to make her share in their games or their 
walks; she, who was usually so ready, so affable 
towards every one, had become gloomy and morose, 
because strange things frequently occurred to her. 
When in the midst of her friends, these young girls 
would suddenly change to her view, their forms and 
features taking a thousand odd and fantastic ones. 
If she were conversing cheerfully with one of them, 
her companion would suddenly disappear to give 
place to Ottocar, who would beg her to give her 



184 Temptation and Violence. 

consent. Another time the pupils would become 
a band of soldiers surrounding her on all sides, and, 
sword in hand, dragging her violently into the 
Castle of Brunn. One day it would be Pandolpli, 
the next Adeltrude, her mother, who appeared to 
her, embracing her tenderly, and conjuring her to 
deliver them from the bondage in which they were 
held by Ottocar ; they would show her the chains 
with which they were loaded, and from which they 
would only be released when she had consented to 
this fatal union. 

Poor Yoland would then fly, completely bewil¬ 
dered, to the cell of the Abbess, throwing herself at 
her feet, asking help and protection, and taking 
shelter in the folds of her veil, as the child runs to 
its mother and hides in her skirts when it is 
frightened by the barking of a dog. Theotberga, 
more pained by her condition than she was willing 
to admit, would console her, saying that the devil 
alone was the cause of her trouble ; that she must 
not lose courage before the wiles and cunning of 
the angel of darkness ; that the power of God was 
with her, and would bring her out victorious from 
all her trials ; that for the rest, she must pray a 
great deal, make an entire offering of herself to 
Mary, the sweet Mother of Jesus, who would place 
her beneath the protection of the divine mercy. 

''The ring which thou wearest on thy finger,” 
would she add—" that ring blessed by Saint An¬ 
selm, the intrepid champion of Holy Church, bears 
a cross engraven on its seal—a cross ! . . . the terror 
of demons, the shield, the defence, of faithful Chris- 


Temptation and Violence. i8$ 

tians—that cross alone will avail thee as much as 
the help of ten legions of angels. It is impossible 
til at hell can prevail against thee, spite of its 
united efforts.” 

Eeanimated by these words, Yoland would hasten 
to the church, and there, air alone, would prostrate 
herself before the Blessed Virgin’s altar, offering to 
her her heart and all the powers of her soul, and 
not arising till she felt herself encouraged and filled 
with hope for the future. 

After the terrible night of evocations, Ottocar 
was brought back to his room by the two magicians; 
the last apparition had been so horrible that he 
could not banish it from him. He was depressed in 
spirits ; his limbs were languid and powerless ; his 
whole being was in a state of complete prostration. 
A burning fever seized upon him, his blood boiled 
in his veins, his mind wandered in a violent de¬ 
lirium. In the morning, when his servants came 
to him, they found him stretched on his bed, his 
eyes fixed and glassy, his mouth open and covered 
with foam, his hair erect, his hands clenched, his 
body stiff and icy. They threw water in his face, 
rubbed his temples with vinegar and spirits; he 
came to himself a little, gave a deep sigh, then, 
suddenly raising himself like one possessed : 

Back !” he cried, ‘'away ! ye cannot enter this 
circle, it is sacred ; avaunt! ye animated skeletons ; 
away ! or ye shall feel the point and edge of my 
sword ! Come hither, Arachiel, stupid brute ! art 
thou not ashamed of thy cowardice ? . . Ha ! what 
keeps thee back . The ring, the ring, sayest 


186 Temptation and Violence. 

thou ? Ha ! wretch, where, then, is thy power ? I 
alone suffice; I fear no rings; where are thy sol¬ 
diers ? . . . Hither, Sans Pitie, Loup-Garou, Con- 
fe-tete ; men like these with thirty followers would 
snatch the gates of hell from their hinges, and seek 
thee to repay with halberd-strokes the cowardice 
which thou hast shown us.” 

And thereupon, Ottocar, enraged, would throw 
himself like a tiger upon the assistants, who were 
obliged to repulse him and to hold him down, with¬ 
out guessing the cause of his blind transports. 

It is impossible to have any communication with 
the devil without having to suffer great evils in 
consequence. Ottocar recovered from his mad ter¬ 
ror and frenzy after some days. But his mind 
became utterly a prey to that infernal fever which, 
having first banished the grace of God, held him 
entangled in the meshes of Satan, and urged him to 
new falls. The transports of rage which sometimes 
seized upon him made him blaspheme God and 
curse men; he uttered imprecations against him¬ 
self ; he gave himself to the devil with horrible oaths, 
and seemed already to have become his slave and 
his prey. And, indeed, the evil spirit soon whis¬ 
pered to him the infamous project of abducting the 
young girl from the shelter of the cloister. Vainly 
did the voice of his angel guardian make itself 
heard in the depths of OttocaPs heart, representing 
to him the remorse which awaited him and the 
horror of such a sacrilege ; the demon of pride and 
obstinacy made him deaf to all his representations, 
and so completely obscured his understanding that 


Temptation and Violenee. 187 

a ray of clear light could not find its way into this 
tempestuous and darkened soul. 

On the road leading from Brunn to the convent 
was a tavern where travellers were wont to refresh 
themselves with a pot of beer and a slice of bacon. 
One day (after Vesper time) a strong troop of sol¬ 
diers, armed with cross-bows, lances, and iron 
hatchets, stopped at this inn, whose walls, lined 
with shelves, were soon well garnished with all these 
arms, whilst the tables were covered with glasses 
and jugs. The landlord was a man nearly six feet 
high, with long, disordered hair covered by a point¬ 
ed cap of lynx-skin, which still further increased 
his height. His tunic of fur was girded at the 
loins by a leather belt, bordered with red, to which 
were attached a formidable cutlass and his carving- 
steel. His wife was, on the contrary, short and 
dumpy ; she wore on her head a bonnet of turkey 
feathers, which, from being exposed to the smoke 
and steam of lard and fat, were of a light-brown 
color ; her hands and her whole person were oily, 
greasy, and shining like a barber’s razor-strap. 
This couple had a son, a tall, thin, gaunt lad, who, 
however, knew how to read a little, which was a 
thing very rare at this period ; he had been, from 
his earliest years familiar with the Convent of 
Znaim, and had learned his letters in the psalm¬ 
book of Brother Gontran, cellarer of the Abbey. 
Eecalled by his father to assist him in the service of 
the inn, he became, so to say, the Solomon of the 
neighborhood; and as the monks of the Abbot 
Daufer had upheld the cause of Gregory, the law- 


i88 Temptation and Violence. 

ful Pontiff, the brave Eutald had done likewise. 
He espoused his cause on all occasions, and proved 
to all who came that if they would live in the com¬ 
munity of the Church they must submit to Gregory 
and hold the Anti-Pope as Antichrist. In that Ru- 
tald showed himself very different from the 
young men of our days, who, after having spent 
some time in any city whatever to learn chemistry, 
veterinary medicine, or the laws, return to their 
native place accomplished professors of irreiigion, 
immorality, and revolution. 

Whilst the soldiers were emptying large pots of 
beer and doing away with half a roasted sheep, the 
hostess, quite flurried, waved the plumes of her 
bonnet from kitchen to cellar, and cellar to hall, 
throwing out here and there some cheerful remark 
to the company. The landlord, on his part, see¬ 
ing that his customers were becoming animated, 
leaned his elbows on the table, his chin in his 
hands, and began thus : 

would fain know, indeed, who could stand 
against ye, my gallants ? Ye are the most famous 
marksmen of the neighborhood, they who strike 
the stoutest blow. ... Ye are out for work 
to-night, I wot me ; and they who would bar your 
passage will feel the point of your lances or the 
weight of your battle-axes.’’ 

Oh! as for the little nuns, they will give us 
small trouble, and we shall waken them from their 
slumbers without much work,” said one of the ruf¬ 
fians, already more intoxicated than the rest. 

Marry!” added the host, looking at his son, 


Temptation and Violence. 189 

thou art, natheless, in pursuit of some Gregorian * 
who has taken refuge in the monastery ?” 

“What! . . . a Gregorian . . . No, i’faith . . . 
it is a little Gregorian damsel whom we want. 
What labor we shall have ! Marry ! we shall find 
her like a bird in her nest; I will hoist her on my 
shoulder, and bear her straightway to the castle.” 

“And,” added another, “if a fine large silver 
reliquary should be lying hither or thither, we shall 
speedily place our hand upon it. The nuns are 
rich ; and, besides, it is all fair prey, for they are all 
Gregorians to the marrow of their bones.” 

“Viva! bravo!” shouted the master of the 
house, whilst making a sign of intelligence to his 
son. 

Eutald understood it, went out immediately, 
and taking to his heels he hastened by cross-paths 
to the mysterious personage who, from the depths 
of the forest, had commanded Pandolph to arrest 
his course to avoid the snares of Ottocar. 

Six men had already gone forward to construct a 
raft on the moat which surrounded the convent. 
This raft was to bear the ladders with which they 
were to scale the balconies. Four other wretches 
dragged these ladders after them, and in case of 
need were to lend a hand. About ten o’clock at 
night the^ minions of Ottocar, inflamed with a 
courage found in their glasses, set out in great dis¬ 
order. They did not come in sight of the convent 
till after midnight. The raft, set in motion by 


• The partiflanfi of Gregory VII. were thus named. 


190 Temptation and Violence, 

means of long oars, advanced slowly beneath the 
walls of the vast edifice from the part of the build¬ 
ing reserved for strangers. The ladders, having 
been placed, were found some feet too short; they 
would not reach Yoland’s windows. This obstacle 
had to be overcome, and they strove to lengthen 
the ladders by means of ropes and pieces of wood. 
This took some time, and could not be accom¬ 
plished without some noise. Some lay Sisters who 
slept on the ground floor were awakened by the 
repeated blows and the voices of the workmen. 
One of the bravest ventured to thrust her head a 
little through the grating, and perceived the reflec¬ 
tion of arms and the black bulk of the scaling-lad¬ 
ders. She rushed into the dormitory, screaming 
and calling out: 

‘^Help ! help ! the enemies of God are attacking 
the convent. . . . They have crossed the moat; 
they are firing on the walls with battering-rams 
and mangonels; . . . they are already mounting 
to the assault; . . . they strike the walls; . . . 
whither shall we run ? . . . whither fly ? . . . 
We poor spouses of the Lord ! . . . stricken doves I 
. . . Hearken to their shouts. . . . Death ! . . . 
death ! cry they. Mother Abbess, Mother Prioress, 
Mother Cellarer, where are ye ? ... 0 my God I 
. . . they will slay us all.” 

By these cries, lamentations, and the tumult, the 
young girls who slept on the upper story were in 
turn awakened. The noise surprised them, the 
clamor terrified them ; they also trembled, screamed, 
and darted out of their beds, dressing them- 


Temptation and Violence. 191 

selves hastily, but not daring to go out of their 
rooms. The bravest and most curious opened their 
door, but the darkness of the corridors forced them 
to go in again; some bolted the doors, others joined 
those who were weeping, and wept too. One asked 
what was the matter; another answered that there 
was a fire in the convent, and all of them screamed: 

Help! . . . must we be burned alive ? Help, 
Blessed Virgin! . . . Where is the fire ? ... In 
the nuns’ quarter.” 

The religious arose from their hard beds, and as 
they slept in their habits they v/ere in a moment 
around the Abbess; but Sisters Cunegonde, Eri- 
berte, and Galswinthe, who had charge of the 
boarders, and who, therefore, slept in the dormi¬ 
tories, came with their lamps, endeavoring to calm 
the general terror. The place was then lit up; 
their clothes brought to the most frightened ; those 
who were still asleep were awakened ; the most ter¬ 
rified were reassured. Every one asked questions at 
the same time: 

^‘The enemies are in the convent. . . . No. 
. . . Yes. . . . The lay Sisters saw them. . . . 
Where ? . . . There. ... In the guests’ quarter. 
. . . Alas ! . . . They will slay us . . . drag us 
into slavery.” 

And the cries, moans, and lamentations began 
anew. The wise Theotberga understood at once 
whence came the alarm. Moravia was in peace; 
there was no enemy abroad in the country. Counts 
and Margraves were taking care of their own states; 
it could only be the Lord of Brunn who was attack- 


192 Temptation and Violence, 

ing the holy place. Filled with just anger, and in 
great alarm, she hastily repaired to the pupils’ dor¬ 
mitory. There she found Yoland already dressed, 
holding in her hand the little image of Mary, and 
endeavoring to encourage her companions by re¬ 
commending them to have confidence in God and 
his Holy Mother. Without, the noise increased. 
The ladders were at length mounted and placed at 
the balcony of Yoland’s room. However, as we 
have said, the projection of one part of the wall 
prevented the ladders from being steady; they were 
not straight, and did not rest against the wall above. 
The assailants, in their love of pillage, despised the 
danger and rushed forward all at once. The lad¬ 
ders trembled and bent beneath their weight. 
Those who were below pushed and hurried those 
who preceded them. Every step of the ladder bore 
a man, and trembled beneath his weight. At 
length the most daring were about to step on to the 
balcony, when, all at once, the overloaded ladder 
strained and broke. The lower part of it fell sud¬ 
denly against the wall, and remained there with 
those who were upon it; but those who were above 
fell backwards, and were thrown with the pieces of 
wood into the moat or on the logs of the raft, where 
they lay bruised, mangled, and unconscious. 

At this noise and their shouts, the nuns imagined 
that they had entered the convent, and in their 
alarm they ran in all directions through the clois¬ 
ters. Then the Mother Abbess gave the signal to 
assemble in the choir, that every one might be to¬ 
gether in the church. 


Temptation arid Violence, 


193 


These wretches/’ ^aid she, ‘^may perhaps re¬ 
spect us on account of the sanctity of the place ; or 
if they dare to place their sacrilegious hands upon 
us, then we shall at least fall innocent victims of 
their fury at the foot of the holy altars.” 

At the sound of the bell, they all hastened to the 
church, and prostrated themselves before the statue 
of the Mother of Grod. 

0 our blessed protectress ! ” said Theotberga 
aloud, ‘^have pity on the spouses of thy divine 
Son! Suffer not that his beloved children fall 
beneath the claws of the lion ; permit not that these 
doves fall a prey to these infernal vultures; save us 
that we may still sing the love and the glories of 
the divine Spouse; and if Jesus demands us as vic¬ 
tims, bring us at least into his presence pure and 
stainless.” 

Meanwhile, the besiegers had drawn their dead 
out of the moat; they carried the wounded to the 
opposite bank, then, seeing that they must give up 
their attempts at scaling the walls, they resolved 
on another plan. The pieces of the ladder were 
fixed against the walls, two strong beams were 
taken from the raft and transformed into a batter¬ 
ing-ram ; then, collecting all their energies on one 
point, they sought to make a breach, hoping thus 
to enter the sacred asylum. Their repeated strokes 
sounded mournfully through the vaulted arches of 
the convent and church; the chapels and choirs re¬ 
echoed them, and the very foundations of the vast 
edifice were shaken. The poor women felt, so to 
say, as if every blow fell on their own hearts; they 


194 Temptation and Violence. 

tremblingly invoked God, the Blessed Virgin, Saint 
Scbolastica, and Saint Benedict. At sight of their 
desi^air, Theotberga’s courage arose. She exhorted 
them to have confidence in God, and bravely sus¬ 
tained them by declaring that the assailants would 
find the walls of Sion harder than bronze or the 
diamond. ^^May the angel of the Lord arrest the 
blows with his shield, and break like glass the de¬ 
vastating weapons ! ’’ 

Having taken refuge in the church with the 
others, Yoland understood that she was the secret 
cause of this aggression, and that she was conse¬ 
quently in greater danger than any of her comj)an- 
ions ; she even felt that, in case they succeeded in 
entering the convent, no one would sufier except 
herself, whom the ruffians would drag away, God 
knows where. Still, her inward confidence in the 
little statue of the Blessed Virgin whispered that 
Mary would not suffer her to be abandoned to the 
mercy of these devouring, wolves. As soon as she 
entered the church, she whispered to Theot- 
berga : 

0 mother! reassure the Sisters and my com¬ 
panions \ all this tumult concerns me alone. Pray 
to God that he may not forsake me.” 

Then she immediately retired between two 
pillars behind the miraculous statue, to whose feet 
came every day the crowd of pilgrims and obtained 
so many signal favors. Prostrate before the sacred 
altar, she poured out her soul in acts of filial con¬ 
fidence to Mary; she placed herself, the Sisters, 
and her beloved companions under her powerful 


Temptation and Violence, 195 

protection ; it even seemed to her that the Queen 
of Heaven said tenderly to her : 

Cease to fear; I will save thee. ...” All at 
once she felt herself assailed, more violently than 
ever, by the evil hallucinations to which she was a 
prey. She imagined herself, in a moment, trans¬ 
ported to the depth of a gloomy forest, which a 
fire was rapidly consuming ; she saw the flames sur¬ 
round and envelop her on all sides; wreaths of 
fire and smoke enveloped her, and a violent wind 
drove them towards her. Horrible dragons came 
writhing out of the flames, with fiery jaws ready to 
devour her. At this fearful spectacle, the poor 
child felt herself frozen with terror; she ran 
hither and thither, and sought some means to 
escape from this labyrinth. She seemed to discover 
an opening on one side ; she rushed forward and 
sought to fly. . . Suddenly Ottocar appeared before 
her; at this sight Yoland stopped, recoiling in 
horror, and sought some other mode of exit. . . . 
It was in vain. The roaring of the flames increased 
more and more, the trees around her were en¬ 
kindled. . . . What was she to do ? . . . what was 
to become of her ? . . . She felt the devouring 
flames. ... A mortal anguish took possession of 
her. . . . She was, it seemed, dying. . . . Just then 
she seized, without thinking, the holy image which 
never left her; she carried it to her forehead, to 
her heart. . . . The flames were extinguished . . . 
the forest disappeared ; Ottacar had vanished like a 
shadow. Yoland breathed again; feeling herself 
delivered from this frightful vision, she joyfully 


196 Temptation and Violence* 

raised her grateful eyes to the altar. Still, the 
dreadful blows which shook the walls, the weeping 
of her companions, the thought that perhaps she 
was about to see the assassins rush into the church, 
fly furiously at the servants of the Lord, slay them 
at the foot of the altars, make their virginal blood 
flow over the pavement of the sanctuary—all this so 
strongly excited Yoland’s imagination, she was 
seized with a nervous trembling. But all at once 
a secret door in the wall opened behind her, a 
vigorous hand was placed upon her mouth, another 
laid hold of her, raised her quickly, closed the 
door, and Yoland felt herself borne away rapidly 
through the utter darkness. 

Still, the strokes of the battering-ram were re¬ 
doubled, and the breach began to open. Suddenly 
one of the fiercest of the assailants fell from the 
height of the ladder, struck by a crossbow hurled 
by an invisible hand.. He was followed by one of 
his companions, then another, both severely 
wounded. It was dark; the brigands stopped, 
looked all around ; they heard the whistling of the 
fatal darts, and could not discover the arm which 
threw them. They were filled with astonishment, 
then terror, and seeing no enemies they began to 
whisper that it was the angels, who, in punishment 
for their sacrilegious attack, were now wreaking 
upon them their heavenly vengeance. 

The reader has not forgotten that Eutald, the 
innkeeper’s son, having guessed the designs of 
Ottocar’s minions, had gone forth in all haste to 
warn that person who alone could bring assistance 


Temptation and Violence, 


197 


to Yoland. On returning from this mission, he 
went into the neighboring hamlets inhabited by 
brave men, stout hearts, who were hostile to the 
Anti-Pope. 

Up, comrades ! ’’ said he; up, take arms, and 
follow me ! Come to defend the convent of Saint 
Mary, which impious men are perhaps even now 
attacking. They would bear away a young and 
virtuous maiden, do evil to the spouses of the 
Lord, and pillage the treasure of Our Lady; by 
hastening, we may fall upon them before they shall 
have time to scale the windows and penetrate the 
walls. Let us see that not one escapes, for these 
ruffians are but the instruments of tyranny and in¬ 
justice.” 

No sooner said than done. The good people 
armed in all haste, took their bows, crossbows, 
lances, spears, and advanced, new combatants in¬ 
creasing their numbers at eveiy step. They silently 
reached the woods which surrounded the convent, 
advanced to the edge of the moat by the aid of the 
trees which grew on its bank, and thence sent a 
shower of darts and arrows upon the assailants, 
who, struck from behind, slipped from the ladders 
and fell into the water. The soldiers of Ottocar, 
seeing themselves attacked in their turn, took to 
flight, rushed on to their raft, and strove to regain 
the opposite bank. But Eutald had anticipated 
them. Accompanied by his followers, he there 
awaited them, received them with thrusts of lances 
and spears, according as they landed, and left them 
wounded or dead in the moat. How shall we paint 


198 Temptation arid Violence, 

the rage and terror of these brigands ? They 
tliought these were the darts of the exterminating 
angel, and fell almost without resistance, so that 
none escaped death. 

The nuns had meanwhile noticed that the blows 
of the battering-ram had ceased. They listened at¬ 
tentively, and this sudden silence redoubled the 
terror which the horrors of the night and the dark¬ 
ness of the church had awakened in them ; they 
tremblingly watched the faint glimmer of the 
torches, which lengthened the dark shadows of the 
pillars on the pavement of the aisles, and they 
shuddered. . . . They supposed that the blows 
had only ceased because the breach was made, that 
the brigands had entered the monastery ; and waited 
every moment to see them rush into the church 
and begin the work of death. Every flicker of the 
lamps, causing the shadows of the pillars to move, 
filled these hapless women with new alarm. One 
saw an assassin rushing upon her ; another heard a 
groan ; this one was taken with hysterics ; that one 
fell in a faint; all of them endured mortal agony. 

When the brave Eutald saw that there'were no 
more enemies to combat, he ran to the door of the 
church, readily guessing that the whole community 
was assembled around the altars. He knocked re¬ 
peatedly, crying: 

Eeverend ladies, it is I—it is Eutald, the son 
of the innkeeper ! Cease to fear; here are great 
numbers of us come to your aid ! All your enemies 
are exterminated.” 

Theotberga arose, advanced to the door, and 


Temptation and Violence. 199 

made Rutald repeat tlie happy tidings. Then, 
kneeling with the Sisters and pupils, they all 
thanked the Blessed Mother of God from the bot¬ 
tom of their hearts. They then assembled all the 
children in the chapter-hall to enjoy themselves a 
little, to embrace them, to bless them, and then 
sent them to take some rest. But what was the 
alarm of the Abbess when she observed that Yo- 
land was not among the number ! She asked Sis¬ 
ter Eribert what had become of her; questioned 
the Sisters, the pupils. They all replied that they 
had seen her in the church, but that, in the general 
confusion, they had lost sight of her. They went 
to the church ; it was deserted.. The lay Sisters 
searched the dormitories, called her name in the 
cloisters, in the courts, but there was no answer. 
What had become of Yoland ? Where was she hid¬ 
den ? No one had left the convent, that was cer¬ 
tain ; and the search continued. 



CHAPTEK X. . 

GEEBEKGE OE DROSEITDORF. 

Some of my readers (and perhaps the greater 
number of them) were no doubt astonished to see 
our last chapters filled with conjurations, appari¬ 
tions, spells, invocations, and fantastic hallucina¬ 
tions, which resemble fireside stories or old wives’ 
tales. Why! who on earth nowadays believes in 
magicians, sorcerers, enchanters, in charms, potions, 
and communication with the devil ? Would you, 
then, they ask me, bring before us the extravagant 
fancies of Martin del Eio,* popular legends, or 
nursery tales ? Would you keep good country-folk 
from sleeping who fear the were-wolf, and little 
children who tremble at the story of Bluebeard ? 
Come, my good man, carry your tales else¬ 
where ; . . . . that sort of thing is out of date. 

To this I reply that before so strongly condemn¬ 
ing ancient beliefs, let each one place his hand on 
his conscience and ask himself seriously if it might 
not chance that he would not be at least as credulous 
as they were of old. Tell me, therefore, something 

* A very learned Jesuit who wrote a work on magic towards 
the end of the XVIth century. It was entitled “ Disquisitiones 
Magicas. ” 

200 




Gerberge of Drosendorf. 


201 


about mesmerism, spiritualism, those mediums who 
bewilder us in our days. What are those tables that 
turn, that speak, that predict the future ? What 
mean ye by somnambulists who see through walls ; 
who read with their elbow; who know what is pass¬ 
ing at twenty, thirty, or forty leagues from the 
place where they are ; who read and write without 
knowing a letter of the alphabet; who, though they 
have not learned a word of medicine, point out all 
the diseases of the human body, discover their 
cause, give their remedies written in medical lan¬ 
guage, with the technical Greco-Arabic terms of 
that science ? What mean these evocations of spi¬ 
rits, answers made by people dead and buried, pre¬ 
dictions touching future events? Who, then, evokes 
these shades ? Who makes them speak ? Who 
reveals the future to them ? Who forces them to 
blaspheme as they do against God, the saints of 
heaven, and the sacraments of the Church ? 

Come, ye strong minds, wherefore this embarrass¬ 
ment and affected silence ? Ah ! ye tell me at 
length they are mysteries of nature, mysterious 
laws ; the gift of light, of a hidden sense in the hu¬ 
man frame; the action of the magnetic fluid; 
nervous subtilty; sensibility of optics and acous¬ 
tics ; the secret effects of electricity or magnetism 
in the brain, in the blood, the nerves, in all the 
vital parts ; unusual powers and forces of the will 
and imagination. 

Ah ! these are senseless words, swelling, ambig¬ 
uous phrases, enigmas, which you do not yourselves 
understand. This is all the difference which exists 


202 


Gerherge of Drosendorf. 


between our way of seeing things and that of our 
fathers ; that is, that in denying one mystery we 
admit a hundred others more obscure, whilst they 
called things by their names, and said the devil is 
the devil. We would absolutely attribute to nature 
forces which she has not and cannot have; while 
our ancients, wiser and more sincere than we, 
simply said that there were supernatural things, 
and frankly had recourse to diabolical agency. 

It must be, however, understood that, less versed 
than we are in the knowledge of physical phenom¬ 
ena, our ancestors sometimes took for marvels events 
which were not out of the natural order. But, on 
the contrary, do not we moderns take for the mys¬ 
terious effects of the secret laws of nature the 
artifices of our magnetizers and their truly diaboli¬ 
cal operations ? The men of ancient times who 
called themselves Christians knew very well that 
there existed certain signs, certain spells,in a word, 
compacts, by means of which the devil was obliged 
to appear, to answer, and to deceive the imagination, 
exciting it in various ways, and doing, above all, the 
greatest injury to the hapless persons who had re¬ 
course to them. Let us frankly acknowledge that 
we too, in our own days, and in greater numbers 
than of old, have our necromancers, enchanters, and 
magicians ; with this difference, however, that our 
poor ancestors regarded this magic with awe ; that 
they never had recourse to it except-in the utmost 
secrecy, in the midst of darkness, in the deep caves, 
under the shade of gloomy forests. Let us add that 
they frequently repented of it, confessed, and did 


203 


Gerherge of Drosendorf. 

penance for it; whilst in our days these things are 
practised in our gilded drawing-rooms, before the 
eyes of all, in presence of young girls, children, 
mothers of families, without any scruples, and while 
gravely deploring the superstitions of the Middle 
Ages. 

Be assured, dear reader, that men in all times 
have voluntarily had recourse to the devil; and the 
tempter, that they may receive him and lend him 
a ready ear, transforms himself in a thousand ways. 
In the ages of idolatry he lived in close communion 
with the oracles. Pythonesses, showing himself under 
the form of doves, ravens, fowl, or serpents, chant¬ 
ing prophetic verses. In the Middle Ages, in order 
to awe the rude tribes, he made himself terrible, 
and appeared only under frightful forms ; or if he 
made himself small in order to appear amongst the 
hair, conceal himself in flasks, or in beverages 
which magicians gave to the simple people, it was 
always to keep over them the empire of terror. In 
our days, on the contrary, he conforms himself to 
the taste of the age ; he goes into society, frequents 
fashionable assemblies, now sleeping with the som¬ 
nambulists, dancing or writing with tables. Is he 
not amiable, answer me ? He alarms no one. He 
adapts himself to Americans, Englishmen, Paris¬ 
ians, and G-ermans; he wears a beard and moustache, 
and converses so charmingly that it would really 
be a sin to say it was wrong. You can imagine 
how fascinating he is when a certain lady, who still 
prides herself on her piety, does not at all hesitate 
to converse with him familiarly ; and if you say to 


204 Gerberge of Drosendorf, 

the imprudent woman, ‘^Take care; there are 
certain things which are not, cannot be natu¬ 
ral ; good Christians do not concern themselves 
about such matters,” she would laugh in your face, 
and answer with a slightly piquant air, Bah ! 
bah ! it is entirely natural; I am a Christian also, 
but I am not narrow-minded. ” Meanwhile, if the 
opportunity should occur, she would have her 
young daughter of twenty years of age magnetized, 
that she might read in the magnetic light the far- 
off secrets of the future. Judge, then, if that 
handsome devil in the black coat must not laugh 
under his moustache at that good Christian ! 

But it is time to return to Pandolph, flying with 
his wife from the persecution of Ottocar. Fur¬ 
nished with letters of introduction from the Abbot 
Baufer, he secretly set out in the darkness of 
night for Znaim, in Bohemia. Their apparent 
destination was a pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint 
Boleslas, where Yoland was to rejoin them as soon 
as circumstances would permit. The horses, urged 
to their greatest speed, went at full gallop. The 
two fugitives were protected in the most dangerous 
passages by the soldiers of the Abbot Daufer, some 
of whom went on before, dividing themselves in 
■such a manner as to cover the flight of Pandolph 
and his spouse. A large detachment formed the 
rear-guard, charged to escort them to the river, 
where they found some difficulty in crossing; but 
once on the other side of it, Pandolph might con¬ 
sider that he was comparatively free from all 
danger. There their escort was to leave them. 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 20^ 

leaving them under the protection of God and to 
their good fortune. 

They gained the river at the very dawn of day, 
and crossed it, watched by their guides, without 
any accident. They found on the opposite bank 
fresh steeds prepared for a long journey; this was 
another precaution of the worthy Abbot’s. The 
satchels which they brought with them were filled 
with clothes, and two wallets, slung at either side, 
contained flagons of wine and provisions for three 
days. They remounted their saddles, leaving the 
tired horses to the two lackeys who had held the 
others; they rode off, sad and silent, spurring their 
horses that they might free themselves as soon as 
possible from the snares of Ottocar. Pandolph had 
too much judgment not to presume that the Mar¬ 
quis would fly into a terrible rage on learning of 
his flight from the numerous spies whom he kept 
at Znaim, and who did not lose sight of him for a 
single instant. 

After having climbed the smooth and easy slope 
of a hill covered with dwarfed oaks and ashes, they 
found an opening towards the hour of tierce—a 
broad, level land overgrown with trees, where the 
rays of the sun scarcely penetrated the thick foli¬ 
age. A path lay straight before them which lost 
itself in the distance, branching off into two parts. 
As the travellers advanced into the thicket, they 
perceived stags and does, frightened by the noise 
of the horses, leaping in among the foliage. 
Flocks of partridges arose before them, flapping 
their wings and flying into the shade of the foliage. 


2o6 Gerherge of Drosendorf. 

where they found shelter. These incidents some¬ 
what cheered Pandolph and his wife—it seemed as 
if they had companions on their journey in that 
vast and gloomy solitude. They were then in the 
thickest of the wood. Suddenly Adeltrade stop¬ 
ped, and said to Pandolph : 

Hearken, my dear ! Hearest thou not in the 
distance the sound of an instrument ? That is not 
the song of a bird.’^ 

What other music could there be in this desert¬ 
ed forest, which, as far as I can judge, is remote 
from any habitation ?” 

However,Pandolph stopped his steed and listened. 

^^By my faith,” said he, ^Hhou art right; I hear 
the sound of an instrument. Well, it may be a 
shepherd watching his sheep, and playing on the 
reed to pass the time.” 

And so saying, he went on. But as they advanced, 
the strains became louder and more distinct.. They 
soon perceived a clear stream which ran by the 
road, and following its course they came to a large 
clearing, as level as a garden, in the midst of which 
the stream formed a little lake, whose crystalline 
wave reflected as in a mirror the soft grass and 
flowers of a thousand hues which carpeted the 
bank. This spot resembled somewhat in its forma¬ 
tion the circuses of antiquity. Immense rocks 
formed a sort of amphitheatre which enclosed and 
surrounded it, and from their steep clefts arose 
tall larches and pines, which, waving gently in the 
breeze, cast their undulating shade over the west¬ 
ern part of the rock. It was truly a fairy scene. 


Gerberge of Drosendorf 


207 


The two pilgrims perceived in the shade, by the 
margin of the little lake, a joyous group of men 
and women, who had just ceased dancing; some 
were seated on the grass, the others surrounded 
one who was playing on the violin, praying him to 
let them hear another of those beautiful sympho¬ 
nies. The musician, after allowing himself to be 
coaxed a little by the nice young ladies, at length 
resumed his instrument, and, assuring himself by a 
sweep of his bow that the chords were in proper 
tune, he first gave forth a prelude, then put him¬ 
self in position, his head leaning lightly against 
the instrument, and began a grand piece. Guiding 
it with a delicate hand, the bow swept the strings 
and drew from them clearer and sweeter sounds 
than the first song of the lark or the linnet; his 
execution was full of trills, cadences, and grace- 
notes, and full of ineffable sweetness of expression. 
The lower, middle, and higher notes succeeded each 
other like a shower of sparks, bounding from octave 
to octave in a delicious song, which at times died 
away in a far-off murmur, or losing itself, faint and 
dreamy, like the morning mists in the azure of 
heaven. Then, suddenly, vigorous strokes would 
enliven the melody, now lingering on a sudden 
pause, again flying off in a rapid movement, full of 
quick, bold cadences, falling like cascades, passing 
from shrill treble notes to the deepest bass, and 
producing the most ravishing melody. 

During this delightful concert Pandolph had 
remained as if spellbound, enchanted. He had un¬ 
consciously allowed the reins to fall from his hands, 


2o8 Gerberge of Drosendorf, 

as he gazed, with parted lips, breathless and motion¬ 
less, on this wonderful scene. The plaudits which 
greeted the performer when he had finished recalled 
Pandolph to reality. Beside him a pretty young 
girl was busy plucking flowers to weave a,garland 
destined for the musician. He approached her, and 
asked in the Sclavic language what was the occa¬ 
sion of this joyous festival. 

What!” asked she, ^^art thou such a stranger in 
the country that thou art unaware that all faithful 
Christians are celebrating with great rejoicing 
the victory won by the lawful Pope Gregory oyer 
the Anti-Pope ? Thou art, natheless, one of those 
schismatics who sustain the cause of Antichrist ?” 

God forbid !” answered Pandolph. rejoice 
with my whole heart that the holy Pontiff has re¬ 
ascended the throne of Peter, where he receives, as 
the Vicar of Jesus Christ, the homage of the whole 
world, which so justly belongs to him. Yea, must 
all loyal people detest that insolent enemy of God, 
who would disturb and devastate the Church, law¬ 
fully confided to Gregory, her head and mas¬ 
ter. . . . Ah ! could I but have served him in arms, 
fain would I have shed for him the last drop of 
my blood I . . .” 

If so thou feelest,” replied the damsel, where¬ 
fore share ye not in our rejoicings ? Dismount with 
thy wife, and dance a measure with us ; the musi¬ 
cian will play us one of his merriest tunes.” 

Pandolph, yielding to such a cordial invitation, 
was making ready to dismount, when suddenly the 
hurried gallop of a horse w^as heard resounding 


Gerberge of Droseytdorf, 2og 

in the forest. He crossed the clearing with great 
speed, crying : 

Fly, Pandolph, fly without delay! Yonder 
come the minions of Ottocar. . , . They are upon 
thy path, and thou art retarded by diabolical illu¬ 
sions. . . . Sign thyself with the cross, and fly with 
tightened rein.” 

At these words Pandolph was as if rooted to the 
spot; he crossed himself, and had scarcely done so 
when dancers and musician suddenly disappeared. 
The field was again deserted, and the husband and 
wife, giving spurs to their steeds, hastened on by 
the path which led into the forest. Their unknown 
preserver accompanied them. 

Being informed of the departure of Pandolph, 
Ottocar, while still seeking to obtain possession of 
Yoland by fraud and violence, did not fail to send 
secretly and in various directions troops of hire¬ 
lings to overtake the fugitives. He charged the 
magicians to work enchantments which might delay 
their journey, that his emissaries might have time 
to reach them. But he who had already saved 
Pandolph from the ambuscades warned him this 
time again, by a trusty messenger, of the new 
danger which threatened him. 

They journeyed, without stopping, throughout 
the whole extent of the forest. Having reached an 
open plain, their mysterious companion showed 
them a house standing somewhat apart, and said : 

'‘Ye can take a little repose yonder, and then go 
on thy way in safety ; for we have crossed the 
frontiers of Moravia and gained the territory of 


210 Gerherge of Drosendorf. 

Boliemia. The soldiers of the Marquis dare not 
pursue ye hither. In all cases, be ye prudent and 
circumspect; ye cannot be too vigilant when 
perfidy is without bounds.” 

Grood knight,” asked Pandolph, inform me 
at least to whom I owe liberty and life ? Whom 
may I thank ? Tell me, that I may not seem un- 
gi’ateful for such great benefits.” 

Pandolph,” replied the messenger, thou hast a 
secret but powerful protector, who unceasingly 
watches over Yoland and over thee. He watches 
every action and even every movement of Ottocar, to 
anticipate his plots and defeat his snares. That 
voice which cried to thee in the forest to retrace thy 
steps, which then directed thy course to the Monas¬ 
tery of Brunn, is not yet silent. He who thus 
made himself heard loves thee with a great and 
noble affection, because he sees in thee a defender 
of the truth, a confessor of Jesus Christ suffering 
for justice. God will, perhaps, make use of thy 
arm and thy counsel to defend the holy Pope Gre¬ 
gory and to assure the triumph of his Church. 
This protector is an intimate friend of the Abbot 
Daufer and of the Abbess Theotberga. God has 
natheless revealed to him in prayer that the magi¬ 
cians of Ottocar would seek to delay thy flight by 
their enchantments, and therefore did he send me 
to thee. Farewell! may heaven protect thee ! I 
must now return to him who will never cease to 
watch over thee.” 

Pandolph’s courage was reanimated by these 
words ; he earnestly prayed the horseman to return, 


Gerberge of Drosendorf, 211 

in his name, a thousand thanks to his generous pro¬ 
tector, and to assure him that the life which he felt 
that he owed to him should he exposed a thousand 
times, if need he, in defence of the cause of the 
Vicar of Jesus Christ. He then directed their 
steps to the house, which was at no great distance, 
stopped there, and, together with Adeltrude, took 
some food. Fatigued with the long and rapid 
journey, he hegged his wife to pass thd night there. 

At dawn, they resumed their w^ay, full of con¬ 
cern for the dangers which threatened their dear 
Yoland ; they feared that her violent persecutor 
would succeed in obtaining possession of her. Sad 
and distressed, hut full of confidence in him who is 
the protector of innocence, they prayed fervently, 
asking the angel charged with the care of their 
daughter to he her counsellor in the terrible anguish 
which she was enduring, to cover her with his 
shield, and defend her with his fiery sword. Pan- 
dolph recalled the mysterious words of the holy 
hermit, who had predicted so many marvels with 
regard to Yoland, and he repeated them to the sor¬ 
rowful Adeltrude as they journeyed along, exhort-^ 
ing her to hope in God. 

Thou art right, dear husband,” answered she ; 
but dost remember that the hermit further de¬ 
clared that Yoland would have to undergo many 
sorrows, that she would be the victim of sufferings 
more numerous than the sparks which flew from 
the fire ? Now, are we certain that the poor child 
can resist so many temptations ? or do we know 
that, even at this moment, when we are flying from 


212 Gerberge of Drosendorf. 

the fury of Ottocar, the cruel tyrant has not 
already cast her into the dungeons of his castle, to 
die there, abandoned, in darkness, and loaded with 
irons—a prey to privations, to terror, and to tor¬ 
ments ?’’ 

pray thee banish these fearful thoughts ; the 
angel of G-od is with her, and God never trieth 
human nature beyond its strength. Thou shouldst 
remember that the hermit, speaking of the trials 
which Yoland would have to endure, also added : 
^Let her not lose courage, for God will bring 
her safe and sound through all these dangers.’ 
Adeltrude, he who confides in the Lord shall never 
find his hopes fail. When we are kneeling before 
the altar of the Madonna at Boleslau, we shall 
offer so many prayers, mortifications, and fasts 
that Mary cannot fail to restore her to us speedily, 
safe and sound.” 

^^Thou art right,” cried Adeltrude. ^^Yea, I 
shall make a vow to fast every Saturday, on bread 
and water, in honor of Mary ; I shall hang round 
her statue the costly collar which thou gavest me 
on my wedding-day, and which I took care to bring, 
hidden in the tresses of my hair. Until the day 
when Yoland shall be restored to me, I shall not 
lay aside my pilgrim’s dress, and I shall cover my¬ 
self with sackcloth ere I prostrate myself before her 
holy altar.” 

I approve of all this,” said Pandolph ; but as 
we know not what trials may yet await us, I advise 
thee to make only a conditional vow. Promise to 
wear thy pilgrim’s dress as long as thou shalt re- 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 213 

main in a place of shelter; but if thou shouldst 
have to leave it, thou shouldst take the brown dress 
worn by the widows of the country, even though 
thou shouldst not have recovered thy dear Yo- 
land.” 

They had now reached a solitary and secluded 
valley, skirted by steep rocks and deep precipices. 
Above these ravines hovered, seeking their prey, 
vultures and eagles, whose piercing cries were re¬ 
peated by the neighboring echoes. The sun, 
already sinking to the horizon, still gilded the 
highest crests, and shed its ruddy rays over the 
valley, but soon twilight succeeded to this lingering 
brightness. The two travellers were painfully tra¬ 
versing a ravine, beside a roaring torrent whose 
waters gushed from between the rocks. Adeltrude 
was following her husband up the farther bank, 
when a piercing cry, issuing as it seemed from a 
cavern, struck upon their ears. Pandolph stopped 
and heard these words: 

Alas ! have pity upon me. Stain not thy hands 
with my blood : God will reward thy clemency.” 

Pandolph dismounted, threw the bridle to his 
wife, and ran across the rocks in the direction of 
the voice. While running, he drew his sword. He 
soon came upon a bandit, whose arm was already 
raised to strike to the heart a young woman who 
was extending towards him her supplicating hands. 
With a blow of his dreaded sword, Pandolph dis¬ 
armed the murderer. 

^‘Assassin !” cried he. 

The dagger slipped from the ruffian’s hands, and 


214 Gerberge of Drosendorf. 

before he could make a movement Pandolph seized 
him by the hair, and threw him to the ground. 
He placed his knee on the breast of the assassin, 
^ and placing the point of his sword at his throat: 
^^Make but the slightest movement,” said he, 
and thou art a dead man.” Then he turned to 
the lady, who was still kneeling : 

Madame,” said he, arise, and fear not. God 
has heard thy cry of distress. My wife is yonder, 
behind that rock ; go to her, taking with thee the 
dagger which was to have slain thee.” , 

The young woman obeyed, and went to Adel- 
trude. 

Who art thou, ruffian,” asked Pandolph, and 
wherefore wouldst thou take away the life of that 
unfortunate lady ? ” 

I was commanded to do so by my master, but I 
know not wherefore he would slay her. I am in 
the pay of the Lord of Drosendorf, and this lady is 
his wife. He conducted her himself, this morning, 
to the frontiers of Bohemia, then he ordered me to 
come hither secretly, to lead her into this solitary 
place, to kill her, and throw her into the abyss to 
be devoured by the birds of prey.” 

Pandolph turned his back on the wretch, re¬ 
mounted his horse, and took on his crupper the 
young stranger, still trembling and as pale as death. 
He counselled her to take heart, and to thank God 
for having miraculously saved her. When he saw 
her more tranquil, and that the color w^as return¬ 
ing to her face, he begged Adeltrude to converse 
with her. She endeavored to calm her fears, and 


215 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 

promised her the affection of a friend and sister. 
She induced the young lady to decide on accom¬ 
panying them to Boleslau, where she might thank 
the Blessed Virgin for her deliverance, and make 
her devotions with them, and after that they would 
busy themselves in securing a suitable shelter for 
her. This consolation and the offers of service 
succeeded in reassuring the poor young woman. 
Then Pandolph, thinking it was time to learn her 
name, condition, and misfortunes, now spoke, ask¬ 
ing kindly the cause of the cruel treatment of which 
she had been the victim. To these questions, the 
stranger replied thus: 

Sir knight, I am Gerberge, a daughter of 
Godeswald, Count of Naumburg, in Saxony, a 
brave and humane prince, esteemed in all the coun¬ 
try as one of the wisest members of the National 
Diet. Thou knowest how the Emperor Henry car¬ 
ried the war into Saxony, despite the treaties 
which he had sworn with our princes, bishops, and 
barons, allying himself, to our misfortune, with 
Ivan III. of Denmark. By a base stratagem he 
first deprived Herman of his strong Castle of 
Luneburg, then he took possession of all the 
fortresses, and placed therein garrisons of Suabian 
soldiers, who only issued from their dens to devas¬ 
tate the fields, burn houses, steal flocks, oppress the 
people with exactions, pillage the churches, over¬ 
whelm the peasants with labor and ill usage. If 
some unfortunate dared to complain of this ill 
usage, he was immediately accused of the crime of 
high-treason, and consequently punished by the 


2i6 Gerherge of Drosendorf, 

most cruel torments. The wooden horse, pincers, 
and ropes were then continually in use. If the 
culprit were rich, they first stripped him of all his 
goods; if he were poor, he was subjected to the 
hardest and most humiliating slavery. The great 
ones of the kingdom were also ill used by the ty¬ 
rant, who was not ashamed to reduce to slavery the 
noble Count Frederic, and to arrogate to himself 
the right of setting free the illustrious Count Wil¬ 
helm Ladislaw. One day, all the magnates of the 
kingdom were convoked at the diet of Goslar, on 
the festival of St. Peter. Dukes, counts, arch¬ 
bishops, bishops, and abbots were assembled on 
the appointed day, in the imperial palace. The 
tyrant sent them word, in derision, that he was 
playing checkers and that they must wait. He 
kept them thus till evening, and then an ofiScer of 
the palace entered the hall, and said, ^ You can 
retire and attend to your business ; our master is 
now some miles from Goslar.’ I leave thee to 
judge of the anger and resentment of the princes 
and great lords at so cruel an affront. The Mar¬ 
grave Dedi with great difficulty succeeded in appeas¬ 
ing the Saxons, who would have broken their oath 
and made war on the insolent monarch. 

The tyrant was not so blind that he did not 
fully understand that he had thus thrown down the 
gauntlet to our magnates, but as he was extremely 
artful and crafty, he feigned to take the interests 
of the Saxons greatly to heart and to be anxious 
for the continuation of his friendly relations with 
that country. He loudly paraded his sentiments 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 217 

of friendship, and numerous courtiers feigned to 
believe them. He hastily raised a large and warlike 
army, and proclaimed throughout Germany that he 
designed to punish the Poles for having invaded with 
fire and blood the Bohemian provinces. The Saxons, 
on their part, were not behindhand with him. An 
edict was secretly published throughout the king¬ 
dom, convoking the nobles and heads of numerous 
families of the people to a national assembly, at 
Hockmenslau. Otho of Bavaria, in a chivalrous 
discourse, painted a striking picture of the perfidy 
and cruelty of Henry against a kingdom so loyal. 
It convinced all those who were present of the 
urgent necessity of preventing the misfortunes 
which this new war would bring upon them, and 
the occupation of the country by foreign troops. He 
added that Henry’s design was not to chastise the 
Poles but to consummate the ultimate destruction of 
the Saxons. Henry was surprised at Goslar by sixty 
thousand Saxons, under the command of Otho of 
Hordheim, and fell back in affright on the impreg¬ 
nable fortress of Harzburg, which was soon sui> 
rounded on every side. The tyrant could not fly, 
for the Saxons closely hemmed him in on every 
side. During this time they took and destroyed 
Heimburg, with the greater part of the fortresses 
and castles which, overlooking the plain from the 
height of the steep mountains, had held the whole 
country in the most shameful bondage. 

Meanwhile, the provisions were diminishing in 
the fortress. Henry felt that he would soon fall 
into the hands of his enemies, and one night, 


2 I 8 


Gerberge of Drosendorf, 


accompanied by Berth old of Carinthia, he let 
himself down from the height of the rocks 
and concealed himself in the neighboring for¬ 
ests. He walked without ceasing for four 
entire days, and at length arrived, weary, way¬ 
worn, and dejected, at the village of Eschenweg, 
whence he reached the fortress of Hersfeld. Find¬ 
ing himself in a friendly country, he had nothing 
better to do than to collect an army, which he pre¬ 
tended to raise against the Poles. After a series of 
interminable ruses, parleys and treaties, promises, 
excuses and flattery, at length finding the occasion 
propitious, he suddenly pounced upon Saxony, oc¬ 
cupied it at every point, and established therein his 
terrible dominion, which made all Germany trem¬ 
ble and horrified the whole Christian world. 

In the midst of all this treason, destruction, 
assaults, and butchery, Ariald, Lord of Drosendorf, 
suddenly laid siege to the town of Haumburg, situ¬ 
ated far from the theatre of war, and wdiich he 
thought, for that very reason, incapable of resist¬ 
ance. My father and my brother Walram offered 
him an unexpected resistance. My father’s soldiers 
and all the citizens hastened to the walls, towers, 
and battlements, riddled the assailants with darts, 
throwing down upon them everything that came 
to their hands. The women took up the pavement 
of the streets, and carried in their dresses, on their 
heads, or on their backs, stones, sand, or bricks, 
which they threw upon the heads of their assail¬ 
ants, who fell in crowds into the moat. I myself 
assisted with other women in the defence of the 


219 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 

fort, whence I carried to the ramparts great vessels 
of boiling water and stones. I perceived my brother 
firing on the enemy ; he had already killed several 
of them, and I was handing him arrows. Un¬ 
happily, the string of his bow snapped. I imme¬ 
diately cut off a lock of my long hair, twisted it, 
and we fastened the new species of string at either 
end of the bow. Walram placed upon it the quiver 
of arrows, and was using it wonderfully, wdien 
all at once an arrow struck him in the middle of 
the forehead. He fell at my feet, clasping my hand, 
and saying ^Jesus!’ he expired in my arms. 
The Lord of Drosendorf observing that one of our 
chiefs had fallen, redoubled his efforts, and concen¬ 
trated the w^hole strength of the attack on the 
spot whither the citizens had hastened on seeing 
my brother fall. One of the spectators had drawn 
the fatal arrow from the wound, and several of 
them raised him, and, weeping, carried him to the 
palace. The confusion which reigned for the mo¬ 
ment on the ramparts permitted some of the assail¬ 
ants to make an entrance : their chief himself was 
one of the first to leap on the battlements and to 
plant his banner on the walls. A multitude of the 
enemy followed him, spreading disorder on their 
way. At that moment, Ariald suddenly sprang 
from behind upon my father, who was valiantly de¬ 
fending the walls, and, by an act of cruel and cow¬ 
ardly treachery, struck him with his axe and split 
his skull. 

After this ignoble deed, the Lord of Drosendorf 
passed through the city, putting to the sword all 


220 Gerberge of Drosendorf. 

who came in his way. I ran trembling to the 
palace, to take away and save a young brother, 
whom I tenderly loved. Alas ! just as I was enter¬ 
ing a subterranean passage which led without the 
city walls, I was surprised by two soldiers who were 
pillaging our home. They dragged me with the 
child into the great hall, where the cruel conqueror 
was already to be found. He snatched poor little 
Vegelin from my arms, seized him by the hair, spit 
in his face, and slew him before my eyes. Then, 
carrying him to the terrace near by, he threw him 
furiously to two bears whom my father kept chain¬ 
ed at the garden gates. Wouldst thou credit it ? 
those animals, to whom the poor child was wont to 
bring some bread every day, recognized him, all 
bloody. They howled frightfully, and in place of 
devouring him began, moaning, to lick his wounds, 
from which the blood was still flowing. 

'^At this spectacle I fell unconscious, and the 
Lord of Drosendorf had me carried to my apart¬ 
ments. The following day, early in the morning, 
he came to visit me, and coveting the sum which 
would be my inheritance, as I was the only remain¬ 
ing child of Godeswald, he forced me to give him 
my hand, in spite of my protestations, in that same 
palace which he had stained with my brother’s 
blood. Ariald hastened to regulate the govern¬ 
ment of Naumburg, and, taking possession of my 
father's treasures, he brought me to his castle, 
having taken the title of Lord of Drosendorf and 
Naumburg. He had been a widower for a year, 
and there remained from his first alliance only a 


Gerherge of Drosendorf. 


221 


young girl of fifteen, named Luisgarde, a dear, 
gentle child, brought up by her mother in the 
greatest piety. Luisgarde was my only consolation 
in my fearful anguish. I found in her a sister, a 
friend, rather than a daughter, and I often poured 
out to her my heart, lacerated with sorrow. Her 
mother, a princess remarkable for her elevated 
mind and great virtue, had inspired in her daughter 
a deep and tender veneration for the holy Pope 
Gregory, the lawful successor of the Prince of the 
Apostles. It needed nothing more to obtain for 
her the hatred of her husband, who was a sworn 
protector of the Anti-Pope. Being unable to bend 
her to his perverse designs, he overwhelmed her 
with all sorts of abuse, and her death soon neces¬ 
sarily followed such cruel treatment. Luisgarde 
never left me ; and when her father went to the 
chase, as often happened, we would go and pray to¬ 
gether in the chapel for the exaltation of the holy 
Church, the triumph of Pope Gregory, and the 
humiliation of his enemies. One day when we 
thought ourselves alone, Ariald surprised us just 
as we were reciting the prayer for the Pope, re¬ 
placing the name of the Anti-Pope with that of 
Gregory. It required nothing more to throw him 
into a violent rage, and it was a mere chance that 
he did not draw his dagger and slay me. He 
roughly seized the trembling Luisgarde by Ihe 
arm, and commanded her, if she valued her life, 
never to set foot within my apartments. He con¬ 
fined her in a solitary room in the tower, where he 
sent to her often, in order to corrupt her faith, one 


222 Gerberge of Drosendorf, 

of those schismatic priests of whom there are, 
unhappily, too many in Germany. Thou canst 
imagine my sorrow at seeing myself separated from 
that angel who was my only comfort on earth. 
We only saw each other at dinner, when her father 
seated her on his left hand and me on his right. 
The repast ended, he would send her back im¬ 
mediately to her room. 

^‘In the interval, the Count of Grubenhagen 
demanded of Ariald the hand of his daughter. 
This lord was young, brave, and enjoyed great 
favor at court. But, an implacable enemy of 
the party favorable to Pope Gregory, he consid¬ 
ered him as a usurper of the goods of the Church, 
the vendor of benefices, the persecutor of the 
monks favorable to their lawful pastor. Ariald 
received this demand with evident joy, not only 
because of the Count’s fortune and position, but 
because of the favor which he enjoyed with the 
Emperor Henry. He sent for Luisgarde, announ¬ 
ced to her in my presence the Count’s proposal, 
and expatiated on the honor this alliance would be 
to the family. The young girl, much disturbed, 
looked at me, as if to draw courage from my eyes, 
and answered her father timidly : 

‘‘ ^This proposal seems most premature to me ; I 
am so young and inexperienced as yet, and my edu¬ 
cation is not finished.’ The father replied : ^ Poor 
excuses ! My will is that thou accept the hand of 
the Count. This alliance is advantageous; thou 
couldst not even have hoped for such; and the 
Count will not submit to any trifling. His envoys 


Gerberge of Drosendorf. 223 

will depart to-morrow for Grrubeuliagen/ The 
poor girl, in despair, threw herself into my arms, 
crying : ^ Mother, obtain from my father that I 
may remain with him.’ 

Ariald, the proud and obdurate-hearted, could 
not control his rage ; he seized his daughter by the 
hair and dragged her out of my arms, saying to her, 
in a tone of authority, ^ Thou shalt obey ! ’ 

‘‘The struggle lasted two days. The father 
employed every means to bend Luisgarde to his 
will. She remained firm. Herman II., Bishop of 
Bamberg, accidentally came to visit us. He was a 
sworn enemy of Pope Gregory. Ariald led him to 
his daughter, so that the prelate might use his 
authority to render her docile. It was in vain ; all 
the resources of his eloquence remained ineffectual. 
The young girl briefly replied : ‘ Let the Count of 
Grubenhagen return to his allegiance to the holy 
Pope Gregory, let him combat the schism which is 
ravaging the Church of Jesus Christ, and I shall 
think myself happy-and honored in receiving him 
for my husband ; otherwise, he can never count on 
my affection.’ On hearing these words, Ariald 
gave a roar which was heard throughout the castle, 
and addressing the Bishop, who was astonished to 
find such courage in a child, he exclaimed: ‘ This 
rebellion is encouraged by her step-mother ! ’ Im¬ 
mediately he sent for two archers, and commanded 
them to convey the dear child into the darkest and 
dampest dungeon of the castle. Next day he had 
two horses saddled, and, without a word, brought 
me to an estate which he possesses on the frontiers 


224 Gerberge of Drosendorf 

of Bohemia. We alighted, and before crossing the 
threshold of the manor, he regarded me with 
furious eyes, and ordered me to follow one of his 
men-at-arms, whom he had secretly commanded 
to slay me in the valley. 0 my dear preserver ! if I 
am yet alive, it is thanks to thy generous protection. 
. . . But, alas ! what will become of my dear Luis- 
garde ? Who will protect her ? Who will console 
her in her grief ? Who will give her strength to 
resist so rude an assault ?” 

Mary,’’ replied Pandolph. Thou wilt place on 
her altar the dagger which was about to pierce thy 
heart; we shall pray with thee for thy daughter. 
Know that we too mourn our only and much 
loved child, who is no less exposed than thy beloved 
Luisgarde.^* 



CHAPTEE XL 

THE HEEMIT’s cave. 

Yoland, impelled by the hand of iron which 
had suddenly seized her while she was beseeching 
the Blessed Virgin to save her, saw the seci’et door 
in the panel close upon her, and found* herself in 
total darkness. By a movement quite natural 
under such circumstances, she stretched out her 
arms, gave a feeble cry, stifled by the narrow walls 
which surrounded her, and made an effort to escape. 
But the hand which held her would not loosen its 
hold, and drew her along through the darkness 
without giving her time to breathe. 

She soon lost consciousness of all that went on 
around her. The hurried pace of the unknown, 
the bewilderment, pain, and anxiety which filled 
her breast, the cold and icy air through which they 
were hastening, the darkness which enveloped her, 
deprived her of the use of her senses. Her wander¬ 
ing mind left her without power of reflection, and 
a thousand phantoms, vanishing immediately, 
crowded upon her imagination. Was this another 
of those diabolical illusions, one of the enchant¬ 
ments which had lately so much alarmed her ? 
Was she not still in the church, among the Sisters, 




226 


The Hermifs Cave. 


while a frightful vision made her believe herself 
journeying through the night ? She could not 
discern a single object, nor hear even a murmur. 
Suddenly a thought struck her; she seized the 
little Madonna which she always carried about her, 
clasped it to her heart, and crossed herself with it. 
This sign, which always dispelled these fantastic 
visions and terrible apparitions, produced no effect. 
The darkness did not disappear, and the hand which 
drew her along did not release her. She heard the 
sound of his steps on the earth and the noise of his 
garments against the walls of the subterranean pas¬ 
sages. 

Ah ! my God ! ” said she, I have fallen into 
the hands of Ottocar. He will throw me into the 
horrible dungeons of the Castle of Brunn, to die of 
hunger or be tortured by pincers, iron instruments, 
or given to the flames ! ’’ 

She shuddered with horror. The hand which 
still guided her along could feel the poor girl trem¬ 
ble in his grasp ; but the mysterious being still 
hurried on, like a man acting under the irresistible 
power of a superior force. Sometimes Yoland felt 
an icy liquid drop upon her face, and this increased 
her terror. They were drops of water oozing 
through the roof and falling upon her brow or 
cheek. Sometimes she came against objects sus¬ 
pended in the air, and large cobwebs floated against 
her face. 

Just then the passage formed a turn; a faint 
glimmer shone upon the walls. She raised her 
eyes and perceived a light towards which they 


The Hermit's Cave. 


227 


seemed to be approaching. A low groan escaped 
her breast. She would have stopped, but the im¬ 
placable hand still urged her onwards. Guided by 
this light, which was at some distance before them, 
the unknown went on for about the space of a 
quarter of an hour, and during this time Yoland 
endeavored to see the face of him who was carrying 
her. It was not Ottocar, but the stranger’s face 
did not seem altogether unknown to her, though 
her trouble and confusion of mind prevented her 
from recognizing him. 

At length they came to the light. The stranger 
hastened his steps, and she soon found herself in an 
almost circular cavern, which had something of the 
form of a temple. Having reached the centre of 
the cave, he released the young girl’s arm and dis¬ 
appeared by a dark passage with him who had 
lighted their way. In the middle of the cave 
burned a large fire, the clear blaze of which lit up 
every corner of the place. Beside the fire a vene¬ 
rable old man was seated in a sort of rustic arm¬ 
chair. Near him was a vacant seat. Seeing that 
Yoland was frightened and trembling in every 
limb, he said to her in a gentle voice : Sit down, 
my daughter, and fear nothing ; thou art safe here. 
Divine Providence has led thee hither to snatch thee 
from the clutches of thy persecutor. I see thee 
trembling and shivering. . . . Take courage. . . . 
I repeat, dear Yoland, thou art safe, and the min¬ 
ions of Ottocar will not venture to seek thee here 
to conduct thee to the Castle of Brunn. Thou 
boldest in thy hands the image of the Blessed Vir- 


228 


The Hermifs Cave, 


gin, and art clasping it to thy heart; therefore, 
my child, thanks to her protection, thou hast 
nothing to fear, for she is the most tender of 
mothers, the consolation of the afflicted, the de¬ 
fence of the oppressed, and the crown of those who 
triumph in fighting the battles of the Lord.’’ 

Somewhat reassured by these kind and paternal 
words, Yoland raised her eyes to the old man. His 
open look, his venerable countenance, his long, 
white hair, his flowing heard, which reached far 
down his breast, gave him a truly heavenly aspect. 
He wore a black robe, fastened at the waist by a 
leather belt, and he held in his hand a stick on 
which he was leaning. 

How thou resemblest thy father ! ” cried the 
old man. ^^The Abbot Daufer told me so, and 
Theotberga confirmed his words.; but I am now 
convinced of the resemblance by my own eyes, and 
I rejoice in it. Since thou hast his features, thou 
shouldst also have his lofty soul, his pious and 
noble heart. Dear Yoland, it is now many years 
since I once received, in this very grotto, the Count 
Pandolph, who took shelter here from the storm. 
I then predicted to him thy destiny, and what God, 
in his inscrutable designs, reserved for thy youth. 

. . . Alas ! thy sorrow and thy peril are not yet 
over; thou shalt have much more to suffer. But 
God, who has hitherto preserved thee, wilt pro¬ 
tect thee in the future. . . . Dear child, ever retain 
that sacred image ; leave it not for an instant. . . . 
Thou hast prized it since thy childhood, and thou 
art perhaps unaware that it belonged to me. . . I 


The Hermit's Cave, 


229 


sent it by my friend Daufer to Count Pandolpb. 
... It was blessed by Pope Alexander II. . . . 
Keep it sacredly ; it will be of great help to tbee. 
Also, do thou cease not to wear Anselm’s ring ; 
the cross engraved on its seal will preserve thee 
from all evil. The sanctity of Anselm, who has 
such power over the devils, will keep them away 
from thee.” 

At these words, Yoland spoke with modest firm¬ 
ness : 

Father,” said she, who art thou ? I know 
that I have found in thee a new protector, to whom 
I owe my escape from a great danger; but how 
didst thou learn of the assault on the convent; 
how couldst thou take me away from the soldiers 
of Ottocar ? ” 

‘‘ Thou shalt know at the proper time who I am. 
It would take too long to explain to thee how I was 
informed of what was taking place at the convent. 
. . . Besides, thou art weary and hast need of re¬ 
pose. ... As to the manner in which—thanks be 
to God—I removed thee from the fury of thine as¬ 
sailants, thou knowest it. ... "We are at about 
half a league from the convent, and no one is 
aware of the existence of this long-forgotten 
place of refuge. It was used as an asylum 
for the virgins of the Lord and the trea¬ 
sures of the Church in the time of the Hun¬ 
garians, who for half a century devastated the coun¬ 
try by their incursions. The Abbess Theotberga 
alone knows of this cave, but she did not think of 
it in the confusion of to-night, and will be very 


230 


The Hermit's Cave, 


uneasy on thy behalf* Therefore, I shall let her 
know speedily that thou art in safety. But thou 
hast not yet slept to-night, and thou hast under¬ 
gone much terror, without speaking of thy journey 
to the cave. . . . Come with me, dear child ; come 
and take some rest. . . . The night is not far spent 
as yet.” 

At these words the old man took a lamp, and, 
going before, led her through a long passage which 
ended in a sort of little room, furnished with a 
straw-couch covered with sheepskin. He told Yo- 
land to lie down, and retired, leaving the lamp rest¬ 
ing on a jutting rock. The young girl was so much 
bewildered by the novelty all around her, and at the 
same time so wearied by the agitation and fatigue, 
that she soon fell into a deep sleep. It was nearly 
six o’clock in the morning when she awoke—as¬ 
tonished at finding herself in a strange place, on 
that poor bed, over which hung the crystalliza¬ 
tions which the light reflected in a thousand colors. 
She rubbed her eyes, looked around her as though 
she were dreaming, and sought to remember all that 
had passed. How had she come here ? She found 
on her breast the little statue of Mary, kissed it 
tenderly, pressed it to her heart, and perceiving a 
cross planted in a cleft in the rock, she arose and 
hastened to throw herself before it. She prayed to 
God, with clasped hands, to protect with the power 
of his divine blood, which was poured out on that 
holy cross, a poor orphan deprived of all human 
help. 

As she was finishing her prayers, the old man 


The Hermif s Cave. 


231 


entered softly. Seeing Yoland’s fervor and her 
devout attitude, he stopped, and a tear of emotion 
moistened his eyes. At length he approached, and 
called her in a low voice, holding out the little 
basket which he had brought. 

‘^My child,’’ said he, ^^a little food will restore 
thy strength.” And laying the basket on the 
ground, he continued; 

Hast thou rested well ? Hast thou somewhat 
recovered from the agitation of the night ? Here 
is some warm milk. ...” 

He drew from the basket an earthen jar and 
some slices of black bread covered with honey. 

Here,” said he, that will do thee good. I 
regret that I have only such coarse food to offer 
thee, but for thirty years no meat has come into 
this cave, and I have only taken milk since I was 
seventy years of age ; before that, I fed on fruits 
and herbs.” 

Yoland was pale, and felt in her veins the shiver¬ 
ing which precedes fever. She took a slice of 
bread, but she found it bitter, and could not swal¬ 
low a single mouthful. Meanwhile, the good old 
man, seating himself on a stool before her, said : 

Eat to restore thy strength . . . thou art ex¬ 
hausted. Come, make an effort, my child.” 

And to divert her he went on : 

^^At this very time, dear Yoland, Count Pan- 
dolph, thy father, with thy good and worthy mo¬ 
ther, are on their way to Boleslau, whither I will 
send thee to join them. . . . God granted me the 
grace to save thy father twice. One night, he was 


232 


The Hermit's Cave, 


riding, well armed, in the direction of Brunn ; he 
wished to remove thee secretly from the snares of 
Ottocar. But the latter, guessing his design, had 
placed soldiers on the way, who were to seize upon 
Pandolph. I learned his evil purpose, and, when 
night came, I glided among the rocks which skirted 
the way, and, raising my voice, said : ^ Fly, Pan¬ 
dolph, fly, or thou art a dead man.’ He turned 
his horse, and went in search of the Abbot Daufer, 
to whom I had made him known. That prelate 
gave him an escort to cover his retreat. Another 
time, he was going to Bohemia. I learned through 
my spies that Ottocar had his hirelings in pursuit 
of him, and that he sought to delay his journey by 
enchantments. I sent a messenger to thy father, 
and he arrived just in time to warn and save him 
from this new danger. 0 my child ! imagine the 
fury of the Marquis of Brunn, when he learns 
that thou art no longer at the convent. I am 
sure that all the roads are already occupied with 
his soldiers ; there will be no deflle, nor path, nor 
ford that will not be guarded by his emissaries. We 
have need, in these circumstances, of much tact 
and patience.” 

While the hermit was speaking, the young girl 
was growing more and more feverish. The disease 
was rushing fiercely and rapidly through her 
veins, making her in turn burn like fire or grow 
pale and cold as wax. Much disturbed by the 
change which had come over her, the old man 
exclaimed: 

My child, what is the matter ? ” 


The Hermit's Cave. 233 

Just as he spoke, the poor girl fell senseless to 
the earth. 

My Grod cried the solitary. 

He hastened to raise her, and laid her on the 
bed, then he went to seek some additional coYer- 
ing for her. Yoland was scarcely breathing. Her 
eyes were fixed and vacant. The hermit bathed 
her temples with cold water. She did not re¬ 
cover consciousness, and the water immediately 
dried up on her burning cheeks. Alarmed by this 
sudden fainting fit, the poor hermit knew not what 
to do; and, seeing that his resources were useless, 
he threw himself on his knees at the foot of the 
bed, and begged the God of all goodness to cast 
a look of compassion and favor upon the innocent 
young girl. 

^^See,” cried he, weeping, ‘‘see, O my sweet 
Saviour ! the sad condition to which this dear child 
is reduced for the love of thee. She would pre¬ 
serve her virtue unsullied, and refuses to unite 
herself with a perjurer who only heeds his perverse 
desires, and tramples under foot the most sacred 
duties, the obedience which he owes to his father, 
the faith which he had pledged to the Duke of 
Moravia. He mocks at the laws of the Church, 
and laughs at the scandal which would be given to 
Christians by the solemn violation of his oaths I 
. . . . This pious child, docile to thy command¬ 
ments, 0 my God! obeys thee in preference to 
contracting a brilliant alliance. Ah ! deign to help 
her. Grant her the sweetness of thy divine grace. 

. . . . Restore her to health; save her pure soul, 


234 Hermit's Cave, 

and deliver her from the evils which threaten 
her.” 

The servant of God raised his eyes to look at 
Yoland. She opened hers, and heaved a deep sigh. 

My child,” said he, ‘Mt is I, the old hermit, 
who wishes thee well, who watches by thy pillow, 
who will never abandon thee. Take courage, Yo¬ 
land ! this will be only a slight weakness.” 

0 father! ” said she, in a broken voice, 
‘‘father, I feel that I am very ill; my head burns ; 
my heart beats; all my strength has failed me. 
Alas ! I have suffered so much lately. I made such 
efforts ; I hid my feelings ; I appeared gay with the 
nuns and my companions, but 1 was always strug¬ 
gling with myself. ... I have suffered so much too ; 
I have not strength to tell thee. My God ! where 
are my parents ? Alas ! what sorrow to know that 
they are fugitives, are persecuted—threatened with 
death ! . . . Father, aid me ! I am fainting ! . . .” 

Saying these words, she became unconscious. 
The hermit raised her burning head to prevent the 
blood from rushing to her throbbing temples. He 
regarded her pale and contracted face with pater¬ 
nal solicitude, and, weeping, he said to himself: 

“ Ah ! my God ! if e’en the Abbot Daufer were 
here he would aid me with his counsel. Eupert, 
who was to bring me my provisions, has not yet 
come, and here am I alone with this dear child who 
is dying. 0 Blessed Virgin! come to my assist¬ 
ance. Grant me the grace to make it known to 
the Abbess Theotberga ! . . . She alone can relieve 
me from so painful a position.” 

Then he called the young girl; 


235 


The Hermit^s Cave. 

^^Yoland! Yoland! open thine eyes; it is I; 
look at thy poor father; look at me, my child ! ” 

Yoland was still unconscious; at length she 
opened her eyes, looked languidly at the old man, 
who, reassured by seeing her smile feebly, offered 
her some water. Just then he heard a step. He 
turned, asking : 

*^Is it thou, Kupert 

Yes, Father Manfred, it is I.” 

The hermit left the sick girl to go and meet the 
new-comer. 

^‘Thou comest late to-day,” said he. '^But 
wherefore that startled air ? AVhat has occurred ?” 

^‘Father,” replied Rupert, the town of Brunn 
is in revolt—they are fighting in the streets and 
squares. ...” 

What dost thou tell me ? What is the cause of 
this rebellion ? The state is in peace, and there 
are no enemies in the neighborhood.” 

As far as I could learn, this is how it came to 
pass : Thou must know that the young Marquis 
Ottocar resolved to marry a damsel from the Con¬ 
vent of St. Mary. To attain his end he made use 
of a deceitful Bohemian woman and of two magi¬ 
cians whom he kept in his service as astrologers. 
But temptations and enchantments were alike im¬ 
potent. The young maiden refused his offers, say¬ 
ing that she was but a child of the people, and that 
the Marquis was already betrothed to Gisela of 
Moravia. The day before yesterday Ottocar finally 
sent a detachment of troops to besiege the convent. 
But it seems that the landlord of the inn on the 


The ffermifs Cave. 


236 

hillside, getting wind of his design, sent his son to 
the neighboring farms and hamlets to give the 
alarm and make known his sacrilegious attempt, 
and that all the men took arms and hastened to the 
defence of the virgins of the Lord. Thou knowest 
how all the country round venerate the sanctuary 
of St. Mary, which brings so many blessings on 
our country. This convent is dear to the whole 
neighborhood because of the benefits which it con¬ 
fers on all the poor of the country. Now, the 
peasants, having learned the designs of Ottocar, 
collected a well-armed band, and surprised the 
villains just as they were preparing to scale the 
convent walls. The night was dark and the woods 
in the vicinity very thick, so that the peasants had 
the advantage over the retainers of the Marquis. 
Seeing their comrades falling into the moat, the 
vandals would have fiown, but they were sur¬ 
rounded on all sides and fell into the hands of the 
peasants, who exterminated them to the last man. 
There did not remain a single one to carry to 
Brunn the tidings of their death. 

‘^When morning came, and the bridge was 
lowered and the gates opened, the peasants re-en¬ 
tered Brunn, weapons in hand, and, dispersing over 
the market-place, in the public squares, and in the 
shops, they roused the people to protest against the 
cruelty of the Count. 

'He despises all justice,’ said they, ‘andrespects 
nothing, not even things the most sacred. He 
mocks his subjects, the greater number of whom 
are faithful to the true Pope, and have sworn to 


The Hermit's Cave, 


22>7 


him, in their hearts, obedience and submission. If 
he would conciliate the esteem of his vassals, let 
him chase the astrologers, the magicians, from 
his court, and attach himself to the true 
Pope! , . 

They were soon seen forming in restless and 
threatening groups. At length, Goson, the but¬ 
cher—that giant who dwells near the market— 
collected around him the butcher-boys, curriers, 
and tradesmen of all sorts, and began to cry out: 
^ Death ! death to the sorcerers and magicians ! to 
the gallows with the vandals, the enemies of 
God ! . . 

And forthwith they advanced in a body towards 
the fort, striking and slaying all the soldiers of 
Ottocar whom they met in the streets. They reached 
the great tower before the guards had time to raise 
the bridge. The shock was terrible. Crowded into 
the alleys of the first court, the soldiers disputed 
the passage with the peasants, whose ranks were 
increasing every moment. Ottocar hastily armed 
himself, mounted his horse, and, with all that 
remained of his men, went out through the back 
gate to surprise the rebels in the rear. 

Meanwhile, the two astrologers, hearing the 
shouts of the crowd, and understanding that their 
life was in danger, slipped in among the soldiers of 
Ottocar, that they might fly and hide outside of the 
palace. But they had not passed the threshold when 
four of the grooms of the Marquis’s stables, who 
hated them, seized them by the arm and forced 
them .to conceal themselves in the haystack. One 


238 


The Hermit's Cave. 


of these brave men immediately came forth, throw¬ 
ing himself into the thickest of the crowd. He took 
with him four stout yeomen, and said to them: 
^ ‘ The magicians are yours!’ They entered the 
stable, and began to toss up the hay and straw, 
under which they found the two sorcerers. Imme¬ 
diately there arose a maddening noise and tumult. 
Their hands were tied behind their back, they were 
led triumphantly through the whole town, with the 
acclamations of the people, whose numbers increased 
at every step. ^ Where shall we burn them ?’ was 
the cry on every side. ^ On the square of Podestat!’ 
‘ No,’ cried another voice, ^ their stench would suffo¬ 
cate us ; let us rather burn them on the Hungarian 
mound.’ ^ "Y es, yes, bravo I ’ ‘ Pity ’tis that 

we have not Swatiza to make a trio,’ said 
a little humpbacked and toothless hag. ^ She is 
a witch, I tell ye 1 a stealer of children 1 Let us 
fall upon Swatiza.’ Hundreds of the rebels ran 
to seek her. During this time some others had 
driven a stake on the rampart, and collected fagots 
and branches of trees. The dismal train advanced. 
The two magicians walked at the head. They were 
loaded with irons, spit upon, covered with mud, and 
dirt, and stones. ^ Mercy I ’ cried the wretches, 
^mercy’! ^Neither pity nor mercy for devils like 
ye,’ roared the crowd j ^to the fire with the imps of 
Satan.’ ^ To the fire, to the fire ! ’ repeated a thou¬ 
sand voices. ^And Swatiza ? ’ ‘ Hast thou found the 
hag ?’—^ Behold her !’—‘ No, it is not her : she has 
escaped!’—‘ Escaped! how?’ A fat miller, stout and 
panting, ran up crying, ‘ Dost not know ? The 


The Herntifs Cave. 


239 


witch has fled I Gondo had trapped her, hut as 
he was about to lay hold on her she slipped through 
his fingers like water, and changed into an owl. 
She fiew over the roofs, snapping her beak as if to 
defy us.’ 

AYhen he had been informed of the rising of the 
town and the departure of his son to quell the sedi¬ 
tion, the old Marquis was alarmed. He feared that 
Ottocar, following the impulse of his anger, would 
he urged into some extreme measure. He therefore 
sent an officer and commanded him to send an 
outrider to Znaim, asking the Abbot Daufer, in his 
name, to repair to Brunn in order to calm the in¬ 
furiated populace. The inhabitants of Brunn 
respected him so highly that his presence alone 
could appease their wrath and influence them to 
disperse peacefully.” 

And did the messenger go ? ” asked the her¬ 
mit. 

Yes, like lightning, but I fear he will 
arrive too late, for the people are furious and will 
make an end of the retainers. The whole country 
is in a turmoil. . . . Coming hither, I met armed 
bands hastening towards the town.” 

^^And now,” replied the old man, thou wilt return 
to Brunn, find the Abbot Daufer, and tell him that I 
desire to see him on a matter of the greatest urgency. 
Thou wilt add—^but this in secret—that he must 
bring beneath his cloak a consecrated Host. That 
done, thou wilt repair to the convent and ask for the 
Abbess. Tell her, from me, to be behind the altar 
of the Blessed Virgin, alone, two hours before mid- 


240 The Hermit's Cave. 

night. To provide herself with a lantern. If she 
appear surprised and ask for some explanation, say 
to her, that it is at the express request of Father 
Manfred. It is needful that she be there without 
fail. . . . But I was forgetting. . . . Hast seen 
Eaymond this morning? If thou shouldst meet him, 
tell him I shall expect him at noon with Ano- 
lim. ... I desire that he take no part in the 
rebellion. . , . And now, farewell, and take care 
that no misfortune befall thee on the way.’’ 

Rupert had no sooner departed than the worthy 
old man returned to Yoland ; he found her deeply 
agitated, and her face burning. 

Father,” said she, as she perceived him,^^ I heard 
a portion of what that man related to thee. ... I 
begin to hope that the assailants did not force their 
way into the convent, and that the nuns and my 
companions have not fared ill through these 
wretches. May God and the Blessed Virgin be 
praised for it! But I thought I heard that the 
town had risen ! My God ! what misfortunes ! How 
many evils on my account. . . . Ah! father, my 
sins are the cause of all. ...” 

Be calm,” dear Yoland. Like the martyrs, thou 
art suffering for justice’ sake ; they, no more than 
thou, were the cause of the tumult which some¬ 
times broke out on their account. Human perfidy 
alone caused all these evils ; they must not be attri¬ 
buted to the innocent, who, firm in their virtue, 
braved the anger of men. The Lord permits this 
violence to try the just, who will always draw there¬ 
from their greatest good. Be tranquil, then, and 


The Hermit's Cave. 


241 


strive to become restored to health. I will make 
thee some broth of honey and water to quench 
thy thirst.” 

The hermit went into the larger cavern, stirred 
up the fire, which was almost extinguished, and 
placed upon it a large pot of water ; waiting for it 
to boil, he knelt on a stool and prayed for the cure 
of the young girl. After some moments he thought 
he heard, in the silence of the cavern, the sound, of 
a step at its entrance. Listening, he soon heard 
as if a heavy weight had fallen on the ground, then a 
stifled groan. The hermit rose and instantly ran 
in the direction of the noise. A warrior, fully 
armed and with visor lowered, was stretched on 
the earth in a pool of blood, which was oozing 
from the joining of his armor. 

Ah ! venerable man,” said the wounded knight, 

help me, and see if thou canst staunch the blood, 
for I am dying ! ” 

Sir Knight,” replied Manfred, raising him a lit¬ 
tle, ^^lean on my shoulder. . . . My cavern is but 
a few paces from here.” 

The warrior, assisted by the hermit, was able to 
move slowly towards the cavern, and was seated 
near the fire. The solitary took a bundle of straw 
from a corner, and placed it behind the knight, 
who was leaning against a fragment of rock. He 
then raised his visor. 

‘^What! thou art the Marquis Ottocar ! . . 
cried he ; ^^and thou art wounded.” 

He hastened to unclasp his breastplate and re¬ 
move his coat of mail, to examine the wound. 


242 


The Hermit's Cave, 


To my thinking it is not dangerous,” said he ; 
‘Hake courage, I will go for some linen.” 

When Pandolph described to Theotberga the cav¬ 
ern of the hermit, he had said that it was composed 
of three compartments, one in the centre and two 
on either side. The old man hastened into the 
apartment opposite to that which Yoland occupied, 
and which served him for a cell. He took balm, 
bandages, and a basin, and returned quickly to the 
patient, whose wound he washed with tepid water; 
he then spread some balm on the linen, placed it on 
the wound, bandaging it all up tightly. 

Marquis Ottocar,” said he, that balm will stop 
the blood in less than a second, I know by experi¬ 
ence. Thy vassals often come and pray me to 
staunch their wounds when they have been injured 
by a blow of a hatchet. There is no wound, how¬ 
ever large or deep, that this balm will not heal in a 
few hours. Dost thou feel any relief ? 

Yes,” replied the young man ; but this great 
loss of blood has considerably weakened me.” 
Where wert thou wounded ? ” 

Hear the river. Roused by some enemies of the 
peace, my peasants—infuriated Gregorians—took 
arms and rushed into Brunn to raise the town. I 
immediately armed myself, and having surprised 
them in the rear with my spearsmen, I drove them 
into the country. But we met with armed bands 
on all the farms, and while pursuing them, I was 
stricken by a javelin and fell from my horse. I 
was alone and at some distance from Brunn. I 
remembered thy cavern, and I came thither, though 


The Hermit*s Cave^ 


243 


constantly losing blood. Having reached the en¬ 
trance, I could proceed no further. I fell, and 
would have died of exhaustion if thou hadst not 
come to my assistance. 

^^Let us thank the Divine mercy,” replied the old 
man ; for if thou hadst had the misfortune to 
die suddenly, what a severe judgment thou wouldst 
have had to undergo ! The Supreme Judge is 
rigorous to all, but more especially to the great 
ones of earth. All men are sinners, but those who 
govern others shall have to answer to the Eternal 
Judge for their inferiors, who often offend God by 
their command, as Jeroboam caused Israel to lie. 
Thy vassals have done ill in rebelling against thy 
- authority. , . , But thou wouldst have to render 
an account to God for having outraged their faith. 
. . . Thy people believe Pope Gregory to be their 
lawful Pontiff ; wherefore lay snares for their faith 
and lead them into schism ? They patiently en¬ 
dured imposts, taxes, and exactions, but they would 
not suffer their faith to be tampered with. . . . 
Thou seest. Prince, the whole West is agitated. 
Civil wars devastate the fairest provinces of the em¬ 
pire. AiSd wherefore ? Because they would con¬ 
strain the people to deny their faith, and break the 
bonds which bind them to their lawful Pope. And, 
tell me, what is the cause of this tumult, this com¬ 
bat, this cruelty, pillage, and burning ? The 
people are indeed guilty ; but those who roused 
and provoked them to these excesses, have they a 
right to wash their hands, saying, We are innocent 
of so much bloodshed ? If it is true, as I am as- 


244 


The Hermit's Cave. 


sured, that thy retainers attempted to besiege, lasr 
night, the Convent of St. Mary, I understand 
that the people have risen to avenge such a crime. 
. . . Weigh, then, the consequences of these de¬ 
plorable acts \ the sacrilege and the distress of the 
spouses of Christ, the scandal of the people, death, 
terror, banishment, prison, and the gallows ! . . . 
Now, on whom will fall the judgment of G-od ? 
On him alone whose duty obliged him to prevent 
such evils. Prince, if I speak very freely to thee, 
it is because I am animated by unfailing devotion 
to thee. . . . But can I calmly think of the ven¬ 
geance which, in thy wrath, thou wilt perhaps in¬ 
flict on thy vassals, who have risen only to defend 
their faith and their altars ? I do not justify their 
excesses, but it was their zeal alone which repulsed 
the sacrilegious violators of holy things. Mar¬ 
quis, God grants thee thy life in his mercy; wilt 
thou be inexorable towards the guilty ? ” 

At this discourse, so full of candor and just 
severity, the young Ottocar, whose heart still re¬ 
tained the germs of greatness and generosity, raised 
his eyes to the hermit. 

Venerable man,” exclaimed he, ^^no one has 
ever used to me language so loyal and sincere as thine. 
. . . Princes are surrounded by flatterers who lead 
them astray. ... I thank thee for thy paternal 
advice, and I swear to thee, by my faith, that I 
shall not lose sight of it in j udging the chiefs of 
the revolt.” 

The moment seemed favorable to Manfred to be- 


The Hermit's Cave. 


245 


seech him to cease his cruel persecution of Yoland ; 
he besides suspected that, beiug informed of the 
young girl’s disappearance, Ottocar would have an 
active search made everywhere. He was about to 
approach the delicate question when Eaymond en¬ 
tered. Perceiving the Marquis, he said : 

My lord, I have met thy retainers; they are 
seeking thee, and are very anxious on thy behalf.” 

Are they far from here ? ” 

“Ho, my lord; some are on the banks of the 
river; the others are scouring the fields. They 
have with them thy steed, and the group which are 
guarding ifc are but two hundred paces hence.” 

“ Call them,” said the Marquis. 

Then, turning to the hermit, he said : 

“How that I feel better, wilt thou show me the 
various compartments of this cavern ? They tell 
me there are here crystallizations which reflect a 
thousand colors.” 

The hermit, who knew Yoland was so near, was 
somewhat embarrassed by this demand, but he 
auswered cheerfully: 

“ My lord, I am too much honored by thy visit, 
but at present, credit me, thou art not yet recover¬ 
ed from thy fatigue, and even wert thou completely 
restored, the dampness of these cells would do thee 
the greatest injury.” Then, changing the subject: 

“Ah !” cried he, “here they are ; hearest thou 
the neighing of the horses ? I go to bring them 
hither.” 

And he ran to the entrance of the grotto. Soon 


246 


The Hermifs Cave^ 


there appeared two retainers, who raised the Prince, 
placed him in his saddle, and, supporting him on 
either side, rode off. The hermit breathed freely. 
He told Kaymond to wait, and ran anxiously to 
Yoland’s bedside. 



CHAPTEE XII. 

THE MYSTEKY UHVEILED. 

The day was declining. The hermifc clearly peiv 
ceived tliat Yoland was steadily growing worse. 
A burning fever tlirew her into a fearful delirium, 
accompanied by frequent fainting-fits, which gave 
her the appearance of a corpse. Motionless, by the 
poor child’s pillow, the hermit from time to time 
wiped away the sweat which bathed her forehead. 
He supplicated the Holy Mother of God to assist 
him in that trying time. At length he heard the 
voice of Eupert. Manfred advanced to the 
entrance of the cave, where he found the Abbot 
Daufer just arriving. He threw himself into his 
arms, clasped him affectionately to his heart, and 
shed tears. 

^^What ails thee asked the illustrious Abbot; 

what mean these tears and this sadness with thou 
who art wont to welcome me so joyfully ? Is it the 
rebellion of Brunn which so much atfiicts thee ? 
God be praised! I arrived in time to suppress it; 
and, save two magicians who were burned at dawn 
and a retainer wounded in the fight, there has been 
nothing to regret.” 

0 my friend ! that is not the cause of my tears. 

- 247 



248 


The Mystery Unveiled. 


I weep over poor Yoland, whom we are about to 
lose if God take not compassion on onr afiSicfcion.” 

Has she fallen into the hands of Ottocar ? I 
passed beside the convent coming hither, but I was 
in such haste to reach thee that I did not enter. 
One of the workmen told me that, thanks be to 
God, all the nuns are safe and sound, but still much 
disturbed, not only on account of the alarm which 
they underwent, but on account of the disappear¬ 
ance of one of their pupils, who, it would seem, 
concealed herself in some secret place in the con¬ 
vent during the tumult. They are all in search of 
her, and cannot fail to find her, provided the doors 
and windows remained secure. The poor child 
cannot be without the limits of the convent.’’ 

This is precisely Yoland, whom I carried away 
with Eaymond’s help; but the child received 
such a shock that I had to bear her, fainting, to 
the couch. . . . And now she is dying, consumed 
by fever. It is God himself who has sent thee to 
confess her. . . . Hast thou brought the Blessed 
Sacrament ?” 

Yes; that is why I come with uncovered head. 

. . . . Let Eupert light the tapers in her cell.” 

Eupert immediately obeyed this order; the Ab¬ 
bot Daufer placed the Blessed Sacrament between 
the two tapers and adored it; then he arose and 
asked his friend where was the young girl. Man¬ 
fred preceded him, and reached Yoland with a joy¬ 
ful countenance, 

‘^My child,” said he, ‘‘take courage; God 
grants thee a favor which will greatly rejoice thee : 


The Mystery Unveiled. 249 

tlie visit of the Abbot Daufer, the friend of thy 
father and the protector of thy family.” 

He had scarcely pronounced these words when 
the Abbot Daufer entered, and, holding out his 
hand to Yoland, who kissed it fervently, he said : 

^^My child, the Lord who has delivered thee 
from so many snares is soon about to give a new 
source of strength to thy soul and body. , . . Yes, 
thou mayst for long years yet celebrate his praises, 
and live for his glory and the consolation of thy pa¬ 
rents.” 

Yoland replied, with an angelic smile : 

‘^Venerable father, may the ever just and amiable 
will of God be accomplished in me ! . . . I feel 
that I am very ill, but since thou desirest me to 
hope, I will not reject counsel. . . . May God and 
his Holy Mother realize thy prediction ! ” 

Manfred approached in his turn, and asked her : 

Yoland, wilt thou confess to the Abbot Dau¬ 
fer ? ” 

Ah ! ” replied she, what happiness ! What a 
favor! ” 

Aye, and after thy confession thou shalt have 
a still greater happiness. . . Happy child ! the 
Master of heaven and earth has deigned to come to 
thee in this cavern, that his august presence may 
transform it into an abode of bliss. Yes, my 
daughter, he loves thee with an infinite love. . . . 
Ah ! thy confidence in him will not be misplaced ! 
He is prompt to reward those who suffer for him at 
the foot of the cross.” 

What dost thou say, father ? What! My 


250 


The Mystery Unveiled. 


Lord and my God will come to me in this solitary 
-cave ? And I am soon to receive him ? . . . Ah ! 
if thou hast a veil, wouldsfc thou suffer that I cover 
my head, for it would he scarce decorous to receive 
him bareheaded, in presence of his angels.’^ 

The good hermit, weeping with emotion, went to 
seek a woollen cloak, the only veil which he could 
offer her. After that he went and prostrated him¬ 
self before the Blessed Sacrament, whilst the young 
girl made her confession. And what a confession ! 
. . . That pure and candid soul humbled herself 
devoutly before the minister of God, accusing her¬ 
self of trifling faults, which she regarded as grave 
offences, and which were only the inevitable results 
of human weakness, the scruples of a young soul 
not yet enlightened by a matured judgment and 
the deliberate consent of the heart. Happy and 
innocent, the young girl had never ceased to taste 
the sweetness of justice and peace : the Divine love 
had always reposed within her as in a vessel of 
election, which it delighted to adorn with a celestial 
beauty. 

As the Abbot Daufer penetrated into the interior 
of this virtuous soul, he admired the sublime influ¬ 
ence of sanctifying grace, which, filling this young 
heart, had planted therein the germs of the holiest 
virtues. He beheld with a -sort of astonishment the 
ardor of her charity, the liveliness of her faith, 
the immensity of her desires, the fidelity of her 
perseverance, the sublimity of her victories over 
self, and he adored the designs of God with in¬ 
effable tenderness. Her confession ended, tho 


251 


Tlu Mystery UitveiUd. 

Abbot Dairfer arose to bring her the Sacred Host. 
But Xoland, turning towards hinij her face radiant 
with an angelic Jot : 

O father P said she, thou knowesx now that I 
am a miaerable sinner, unworthy of the grace 
which oar sweet SayLoar deigns to bestow npon me. 
Since he woald, in his infinite lore, come to yisit 
me as of old the publican, aid me, I pray thee, to 
arise from my couch, that I may go and kneel be¬ 
fore him I . . . ” 

Mored by so pious a demand, the AbbcMC Daufer 
conld scarcely speak. 

‘‘ Xo, my daughter,^ answered he, thou canst 
not arise, so great is thy weakness- The violence 
of the fever exhausts thee. . . . Content thyself 
with rising a little on thy couch, Hke the paralytic 
in the GosjieL . . . Beassure thyself and hope. . . . 
When thou hast received the sweet Jesus in the 
tabernacle of thy heart, pray for us, pray for thy 
parents, who are suffering persecution for jusdce’ 
sake, pray for the peace of tiie Church, that there 
may be but one fold and one pastor.” 

He turned away, and the young girl began to 
pray. . . . She humbled herself, full of love. . . . 
A holy impatience made her long for the moment 
when it would be given her to see, to adore, and to 
receive her Saviour. Bupert and Baymond walked 
before, carrying lifted tapers, and the Abbot 
Daufer, with the Bl^^ Sacrament, followed them, 
singing with the hermit the psalm : Lnudate £kh 
flifiiar.w, their voices resounded in 

* praise tbe Lord. 


252 The Mystery Unveiled. 

the cave, echoing through the depths of the cavern 
its solemn strain, which seemed to proclaim, in the 
bowels of the earth, as in the celestial choirs, the 
glory of the Divine presence. Yoland heard them, 
absorbed in a sweet ecstasy which filled her heart, 
and she lovingly awaited the august Majesty which 
deigned to descend to her. At sight of the Sacred 
Host, her features were illuminated with a celestial 
joy, and, in an outburst of faith and love, she cried 
out : 

am not worthy, 0 my Lord, that thou 
shouldst enter into my soul.’’ 

And, striking her breast, she bowed her head 
humbly. The Abbot Daufer gave her the Body of 
our Lord, saying : 

Receive, Yoland, the viaticum of the Body of 
thy Lord. If he disdain not to descend into these 
dark caverns, which he changes by his presence 
into an abode of delight, peopled with angels, che¬ 
rubim, and seraphim, forming a perpetual chorus 
of adoration, into what a paradise will he not 
change thy soul, created to his Divine image, and 
enriched with the precious gifts of grace ? He 
comes not alone into thy heart. . . . He brings 
thee with his. adorable presence new treasures of 
infinite value ; he loads thee with his sweetness, in¬ 
creasing in thee the ardor of his love. . . . He 
would fortify thee in the combat, that thou mayst 
obtain the immortal crown \ ” 

Deeply moved, Yoland raised herself in an ecs¬ 
tasy of love to receive the amiable Jesus ; then, 
bending her head, she annihilated herself in adora- 


The Mystery Unveiled. 253 

tion of the God whom she had received into her 
breast. The two men left her alone, and retired 
into the cavern, where they conversed on the events 
of the day. The hermit related to the Abbot Dau- 
fer how he had given hospitality to the wounded 
Ottocar, and how his mind had been tormented 
with anxious doubts in regard to Yoland, so near 
her persecutor. He told him of the terror of the 
young girl, her delirium, her fainting-fits, after 
which he had found her unconscious and almost 
lifeless. He did not fail to impart to him how he 
had prayed Ottocar to spare the rebels, and of the 
promise which the young Marquis had made to him 
that he would judge them as leniently as possible. 

‘^He hot only promised to take my advice,’’ said 
Manfred ; ^^he swore it by his faith.” 

^ By his faith ’ ? But he has none,” replied the 
Abbot Daufer. ‘^He has publicly broken his pro¬ 
mise of marriage to Gisela of Moravia; he has 
trampled under foot his word, and every feeling of 
honor. Ho, he does not respect his oaths, no 
matter to whom they are made, when his passions 
urge him on to perjure himself. Ottocar is a brave 
and valiant prince. He is generous, magnanimous, 
if you will; but he is headstrong, cruel, and incon¬ 
stant. ... His passions have hurried him from excess 
to excess. . . . He has not even shrunk from magic; 
he has committed fearful sacrileges, and has dared to 
assail a sanctuary consecrated to God, to snatch 
from the arms of the Queen of Heaven an angel of 
innocence and truth. Ho, I cannot think that 
he will remain faithful to his word. 1 even fear 


254 ’ Mystery Unveiled, 

that at this very moment his retainers are already 
in pursuit of the rebels, and if they overtake them 
there will be a horrible massacre. I feel assured, 
too, that if he had got wind of the flight of Yoland, 
he would not have failed to place guards on the 
roads, to take her dead or alive. Beware, Manfred, 
that he suspect not her hiding-place, for if God 
calls not the dear child to himself, we cannot take 
too many precautions to shield her from the pursuit 
of her enemy. . . . Take care that thou lose her 
not by any imprudence. Knows the Abbess that 
Yoland is here ? ” 

Ko, my friend. However, Theotberga knows of 
the secret passage which leads to the cave, but hither¬ 
to has not thought of it. I sent her word to come 
alone to-night, behind the altar of the Virgin, two 
hours before midnight. Then I will softly open 
the little door, appear before her, begging her to 
come and see Yoland. . . . Perhaps the sight of 
the excellent Abbess would work a salutary reaction 
in the young girl, which would permit us to restore 
her to Pandolph and Adeltrude. Thou, my dear Ab¬ 
bot, canst await us here, then we three will decide 
what will be the surest and most rapid way to send 
her out of the country. Eaymond, that brave and 
faithful yeoman from Mentz whom thou didst 
place in the service of Pandolph during the first 
days of his residence at Znaim, has always served 
his master with much loyalty and devotion. More 
than once he exposed his life to save him. Kow, he 
saw Yoland born, has seen her grow up beneath his 
eyes ; he loves her like a father, and was specially 


255 


The Mystery Unveiled, 

charged to watch over her at her entrance into the 
convent; I do not think a better guide can be 
found to conduct her to Boleslau and restore her to 
her parents.” 

‘‘'Thou art right/’ answered the Abbot, “but if 
I must remain so late in the cavern, word must be 
sent to the Prior of Znaim, that he may not be un¬ 
easy during the night at my absence. My escort 
must also be sent hence, and yet I desire that they 
enter not the town of Brunn.” 

“ Best easy on that point. I will have thy 
knights conducted to the inn on the hillside kept 
by the father of our Eutald. Their horses will 
be well groomed, and thy men well lodged, and 
sure to obtain good provender.” 

The Abbot Daufer immediately called Anolin 
and charged him to apprise the chief of the escort 
to send forthwith one of his men to the monastery 
to inform the prior. He added that the spearsmen 
were to take lodging with Eutald, and to be at the 
entrance of the cave at the dawn of day. Anolin 
went to the soldiers, whom he found here and there 
in the neighborhood, some lying on the grass and 
others talking merrily. He transmitted the com¬ 
mands of the Abbot to the leader of the troop, 
who immediately ordered the Terrible to mount 
his horse and announce at the monastery that the 
Abbot would not return till next day. The Ter¬ 
rible spurred his horse and rode off at full 
speed. 

“ Come on, comrades,” said Anolin, “ I am 
charged to put ye under cover from the buffets of 


256 The Mystery Unveiled. 

the weather \ will one of ye take me on thy crup¬ 
per 

The weather matters little to soldiers covered 
with huff-skin from head to foot/’ replied the Bear ; 

but without a good piece of roasted beef and a 
pot of beer within one would shiver even at the 
fireside.” 

All in good time,” replied Anolin. If thou 
wilt take me on thy crupper, we will even add to 
the pot of beer a good draught of that mead which 
often turns thy pate.” 

The Bear, without any answer, seized Anolin by 
the belt, and raised him into the saddle as though 
he were a feather, for so stout and lusty was the 
yeoman. 

‘‘ To the inn on the hillside ! ” cried Anolin. 

To the inn ! ” cried the soldiers in chorus; 
“ long live our landlord ! ” 

Long live his bacon and sausages ! ” said the 
Scarred. 

Long live his double-beer ! ” added Steel-Fist. 

Then they set off at a quick trot, as if they were 
about to charge on a battalion. They soon reached 
the inn, and their first care was to stable their horses 
and groom them. All this time the house was in 
an uproar. It was continual coming and going 
from the kitchen to the dining-room. The hostess 
laid the table, the host was deeply occupied in truss¬ 
ing the joints, which he put on the spit, around 
which crowded the scullions, whilst the cellarer has¬ 
tened down to the vault, whence he feappeai'ed 
with great jugs of beer. Supper was soon served. 


The Mystery Unveiled. 257 

and the attendants of the Abbot set to heartily. 
Rutald was busier than any one. As to the master 
of the house, with his immense fur cap, he went 
from one to the other, filling immense goblets which 
seemed like pails, crying out: 

‘•On, comrades ! to your health ! By my faith, 
after your exploits at Brunn, ye might indeed re¬ 
pair your strength.” 

“ Bah ! ” replied Porcupine, “weremained quiet, 
not taking the trouble to stir our lances. We sim¬ 
ply served as escorts to our reverend Abbot, who 
wept because he had not arrived in time to put out 
the fire, and to snatch from the logs the two magi¬ 
cians, who were roasted like two pheasants. . . . 
Well-placed charity, verily ! But our dear Abbot 
would draw two imps of hell out of the fire. . . . 
And, as I said to him,. ‘My lord, is there not an 
indulgence for roasting magicians?’ he turned 
towards me indignantly and said : ‘ It is not for in¬ 
dividuals to exercise justice ; the fury of the mob is 
always blind and senseless ; there are tribunals ; it 
is for them to apply laws and pronounce sentences.’ 
I put my tongue between my teeth, and kept silent. 
But if the people could have seized Swatiza, I as¬ 
sure thee, without alighting from my horse, I would 
have struck the tinder-box and passed the lighted 
wick to those who carried the fagots to roast her 
ugly skin, already browned by the sun. The wretch 
once stole a little daughter from Burgundophore, 
my neighbor. Ah ! if I caught her, I would m.ake 
slices of her ! It is said that the evil hag changed 
herself into an owl, or some say a cat, to escape the 


258 The Mystery Unveiled. 

people. Aye, credit me, I pierced tlirongli and 
tlirough with my lance every cat that I met this 
morning on the road to Brunn, hoping thus to re¬ 
lieve the world of Swatiza. But wickedness gains 
nothing by waiting, and, if I catch her some day, 
by my faith, she’ll no more deceive her neighbors, 
and the Abbot will have more occasion for his elo¬ 
quence.” 

Whilst Porcupine, already somewhat unsteadied 
by numerous bumpers, was giving forth the fore¬ 
going tirade, an urchin from the village rushed into 
the hall, crying in a voice choked by terror : 

Save thyself, Eutald ! Pour villains are com¬ 
ing at full gallop to seize thee and conduct thee to 
the prison of Brunn. . . . They declare that thou 
hast slain the Marquis. . . .” 

Too late ! ” said the spearsmen of Znaim, 
ironically ; too late, dear good friends, ye will 
find but the remnants of the supper. ‘ Sero venien- 
tibus ossa,’* as says the father-cellarer when one of 
us comes too late for supper. . . . Dear landlord, 
hast thou need of four good roasts ? Make ready 
the spits, and place underneath thy largest drip¬ 
ping-pans, for the game is plump and fat. . . .” 

With these words they arose, seized their lances, 
and, helmet on head, went out of the inn to receive 
the’bandits unflinchingly. They did not appear for 
some time ; for, on their way, they had arrested in 
some of the neighboring cabins three other heads 
of the riot, whom they forced to walk, strongly 


* Those who come late find but the bones. 


The Mystery Unveiled. 259 

bound, in front of their horses. The sky was clear 
and limpid, and the moon, almost at its full, soon 
allowed the soldiers to perceive the minions of Ot- 
tocar issuing from the woods, with the prisoners 
who preceded them. The brave spearsmen judged 
rightly that the moonlight, shining on their helmets 
and polished arms, could not fail to betray their 
presence. Therefore, some re-entered the house, 
others slipped into the stable; others, behind a 
well surrounded by tufted trees, held themselves in 
readiness to rush upon the bandits. This plan suc¬ 
ceeded wonderfully. The villains approached un¬ 
molested, and, arriving at the door of the inn, three 
of them dismounted, while the fourth remained to 
guard the prisoners. They advanced, brandishing 
their pikes, but scarcely had they reached the court 
than they found themselves confronted by eight 
formidable spears, and eight stentorian voices cried 
at once : 

Lower your arms, or ye are dead men !” 

Hearing this shout, the fourth, seeing the danger, 
turned to fly, but the soldiers hidden near the well 
rushed out upon him, seized the bridle of his horse, 
and cried out: 

Stop, thou craven ! ” 

They did not dream of resistance, for the odds 
were too great against them. The bandits laid down 
their arms and asked for quarter. Eutald imme¬ 
diately ran to the prisoners, unloosened their chains, 
and brought them to the table, saying to the re¬ 
tainers : 

We Gregorians bear no malice; we are always 


26 o The Mystery Unveiled, 

ready to return good for evil. Sit ye down, all 
four of ye, and drink a cup with the bowmen of the 
Abbot Daufer.” 

The theology of the hostess was not so accommo- 
datiug. At sight of those who had come to arrest 
her son, she flew into a violent rage, and, with her 
hands on her haunches, was advancing towards the 
bandits to load them with abuse. But her husband 
drew her back by the dress. 

Wife,” said he, ^^make not so much ado. Eu- 
tald knows what he’s about, and thou shouldst not 
meddle in his affairs. . . . Dost hear, babbler ? Ke- 
turn to the kitchen ! ” 

And the landlord came into the room with a ham 
and a large jug of beer. 

Come on,” said he, set to work, friends ! 
There is room here for every one, and the landlord 
of the Sun has no enemies.” 

The bowmen filled with quite a chivalrous polite¬ 
ness the glasses of Ottocar’s soldiers, and each one 
clinked his glass with his neighbor’s and proceeded 
to drink copious bumpers. When they had fully 
done honor to their hosts, the bowmen said to 
them ; 

Now, dear comrades, place your cimeters near 
those pikes, which will render ye all the lighter, 
then remount your steeds, after swearing by your 
beards that while returning to Brunn ye will molest 
no living man.” 

Happy to have got off so easily, the brigands 
swore to do all that they wished, and returned 
to Brunn with lowered crests, thankful to have 


The Mystery Unveiled, 261 

saved their skin. As to Rutald and the bowmen, 
they secretly proceeded the same night to the 
monastery of Znaim. 

The Abbess Theotberga had passed the terrible 
night of the assault a prey to indescribable an* 
guish. As Superior and as Mother, she felt the 
affliction and alarm of the poor Sisters and the 
young girls confided to her care. But seeing that 
the sacrilegious assailants had been stricken by the 
anger of God, and that they were forced to retire 
without injuring the virgins of the Lord, perceiving 
collected within the chapter hall all her dear chil* 
dren, who surrounded and embraced her, saying: 

Mother, here I am ! ” she felt her soul filled 
with such profound joy that we can give no idea of 
it. All her children were so dear to her! She 
clasped them to her heart with ineffable tender¬ 
ness ; and, while embracing each of them, she 
looked for Yoland with trembling eyes. All at 
once she cried: 

And Yoland ; where is Yoland 

Pupils and religious looked at each other, and, 
struck with amazement, cried with one voice : 

She was in the chapel with us. . . . She, 
natheless, remained praying beside the Blessed 
Virgin’s altar. . . 

Immediately the lay Sisters, who all loved the 
daughter of Pandolph, went in search of her 
through the entire convent. Until day they hoped 
that she had retired to pray in some secret nook, 
of which there were many in the vast and ancient 
edifice. But by sunrise the establishment had 


262 The Mystery Unveiled, 

been visited from garret to cellar, without dis¬ 
covering her. There was universal mourning. 
But no sorrow could he compared to that of the 
^ venerable Theotberga. A lay Sister then made a 
horrible supposition. 

After the shock of the assailants,’’ said she, 
‘^when silence succeeded to the noise, we all sup- 
j)osed that the soldiers had entered the convent. 
. . . Perhaps Yoland, in the fear of falling into the 
. hands of the assassins, hid herself in the great 
cellar ! . . . My God ! if she should have fallen 
into the great cistern ! . . .” 

In that age, when the art of conveying water 
from distant sources was but little known, there 
was constructed, at the Convent of St. Mary’s, in 
an immense cellar, an enormous reservoir wherein 
the rain water which came through the roof, and 
the overflow of the moats in the neighboring 
meadows, collected. The walls were of cement, to 
stem the rush of the waters, and all around were 
filters of gravel and minerals to render them drink¬ 
able, clear, and limpid. That reservoir, as 
large as the ponds which are seen in gardens, was 
at least twenty feet in depth. It was surrounded 
by flags, and one could descend by some steps, cut 
in the rock, either to draw water, or in summer, 
when the water was low, to clear out the bottom of 
the basin. 

At these words of the lay Sister, Theotberga im¬ 
mediately sent for some of the workmen of the 
convent. All the lay Sisters, ranged on the edge 
of the reservoir, held little lighted tapers, Vhile 


The Mystery Unveiled. 


263 


the men let down to the bottom of the water a 
string loaded with lead, which they occasionally 
drew up. The lights which the good nuns carried 
were reflected in the ruffled waters, whence shone 
a thousand glimmers, falling on the walls and 
vaults. One would have said that these vast dun¬ 
geons were the scene of a strange illumination. 
Every time the string was drawn up, the noise of 
the water made their hearts heat; every eye was 
bent anxiously on the reservoir. At length, when 
they were assured that the search had brought no¬ 
thing to light, Theotherga, much relieved, ex¬ 
claimed : 

My God, I return thanks to thee ! I hope that 
my dear Yoland still lives.” 

Coming out of the cellar, the Sister portress 
came to announce to the Abbess the arrival of Eu- 
pert. Theotberga, knowing that he was Manfred’s 
confldential man, hastened to the parlor. Eupert 
imparted to her the hermit’s message, praying her 
to be behind the altar of the Blessed Virgin two 
hours before midnight. The Abbess questioned 
the messenger, but could not succeed in obtaining 
any explanation. Fear and hope struggled in her 
breast till evening, but she ceased not to beg of God 
to have mercy on Yoland and on herself. 

When all the Sisters had retired to their cells to 
take their rest, Theotberga, anticipating the hour 
of the meeting, went down to the church and pros¬ 
trated herself before the statue of Mary. She 
begged her to have pity on her sorrow, and not to 
leave her long a prey to this cruel uncertainty. 


264 The Mystery Unveiled. 

Often she listened, watching the great door of the 
church, where she presumed the hermit would knock 
at the appointed hour. But what was her terror, 
just when she had prostrated herself face down¬ 
wards on the altar steps, to feel a hand tapping her 
lightly on the shoulder, while a voice said: 

Arise, Theotberga.’’ 

She immediately stood up, and, perceiving the 
hermit, she remained motionless. 

Mary, aid me ! ” were the only words she could 
utter. 

Do not he disturbed,” replied Manfred; think 
not that thou seest a spirit. ... It is I, indeed, 
in flesh and blood.” 

‘^But how didst thou enter? I have here, at 
my belt, the keys of the church door ; and, further¬ 
more, it is fastened within by two bolts.” 

And I ask thee in thy turn, where is Yoland ? 
I learn that she is no longer at the convent. . . . 
Who then has borne her hence ? . . . Where is she 
now ? . . . Is it thus that thou takest care of 
her ? . . .” 

Ah ! Father, I beg of thee increase not my 
agony; ... we have called her and sought her 
everywhere ; the house has been searched, but she 
has not been found. ... I had all the keys, and 
the door was not even opened to Eutald, who came 
to announce the defeat of the retainers of the Mar¬ 
quis of Brunn.” 

‘^But, Eeverend Mother, where thinkest thou 
would she be ? Carried off, it may be ... or 
miraculously disappeared ? ” 


The Mystery Unveiled. 265 

'^Carried off! and by whom? No one has 
entered, for the doors were closed, and they did 
not scale the windows. . . . Besides, I saw Yoland, 
with my own eyes, and spoke to her here, before 
this very altar, where she begged me to pray for 
her, for she suspected that they laid siege to the 
place to obtain possession of her, and deliver her to 
her enemies. Just then she left me, and I saw her 
no more. ... 0 Father, I declare to thee that I 
speak the truth. ... I bethought me betimes in 
my trouble that the Blessed Virgin had miracu¬ 
lously transported her to a place of safety. . . 

^^Yes, thou art right; thy dear Yoland is in 
safety, but thou must implore Mary to crown her 
favors by preserving her to us. . . . Wilt thou fol¬ 
low me ? ” 

At these words, the Abbess closed her eyes, raised 
her clasped hands towards the miraculous statue, 
and, her heart swelling with emotion, followed the 
hermit, who led her behind the altar. Having 
reached the two pillars, he pressed the spring of 
the secret door, and said : 

Mother, dost thou not remember that when 
thou wert named Abbess, thou foundest, among 
the keys, a little secret key, to the ring of which 
was fastened a sealed paper with the inscription: 
^ To be opened by the future Abbess ’ ? On this 
parchment was written that, at the time of the 
Hungarian invasion, this invisible door was con¬ 
structed for the spouses of God, which gave access 
to subterranean passages.” 

Yes, yes,” said Theotberga, striking her fore- 


266 The Mystery Unveiled. 

head. The trouble I have had has taken away 
my memory.” 

As soon as I learned what was taking place, I 
sent Kaymond hither; Yoland was kneeling be¬ 
tween the pillars ; Eaymond opened the door, saw 
her, lifted her, stopping her mouth, and brought 
her to my cave, having carefully closed the secret 
door. But, alas! the poor child has given way 
under so many emotions, and, after a sleep of some 
hours, she awoke consumed by a burning fever, 
which threw her into a violent delirium. I sent 
for the Abbot Daufer, who had come to Brunn to 
quell the popular tumult. At my request, he con¬ 
fessed the young girl, and administered to her the 
holy viaticum. That divine remedy filled her 
with so lively a joy that her condition is greatly 
improved ; but she is still so weak and exhausted ! 
In a word, I hope thy presence may complete her 
cure.” 

They had arrived, conversing thus, at the end 
of the subterranean passage, and at Manfred^s 
cave. He begged the Abbess to wait a little, 
whilst he went to prepare the young girl for the 
unexpected visit of Theotbeiga, for such a surprise 
might be injurious to her. He found the Abbot 
Daufer at her bedside, seeking to console her with 
gentle kindness. Somewhat restored, Yoland was 
gently disputing with the Abbot, who wished to 
dissuade her from returning to the convent, where 
she would be exposed to further persecution from 
the Marquis. 

Let it be supposed, my child, that thou art 


The Mystery Unveiled. 267 

dead or have at least disappeared. . . . During the 
first days Ottocar will guard every outlet to obtain 
possession of thee ; but, later, finding his watchful¬ 
ness vain, he will cease his search, and thou canst 
be restored without danger to thy father.” 

The hermit entered at this moment. Yoland, 
addressing him, asked : 

Father, is it possible that, as the Abbot Daufer 
wishes, I must never return to the convent ? Who 
can know the tears, anguish, and distress of my 
good mother Theotberga ? How sorrowful will be 
Sister Cunegonde and Sister Eribert! All my 
friends will weep for me, and thou wouldst, should 
Ood spare my life, that I depart secretly, that I 
abandon the beloved shelter of my childhood, the 
beloved nuns, my dear affectionate companions, 
without even saying farewell to them. They will 
suppose that I have fallen into the hands of the 
assassins, and will never cease to weep over my 
fate ! Nay, nay; the Abbess Theotberga will be 
inconsolable, for I know her great affection for 
me! . . .” 

‘‘And if the Abbess were informed of all that 
has happened ?” asked the hermit. “Then, 
if she should desire to see thee, dost thou think, 
Yoland, that she would not be afraid of these 
solitudes, or would she come to thy pillow like a 
tender mother ? ” 

0 good Fathers ! wherefore dost thou awaken 
in the heart of a poor orphan these hopeless desires ? 
It seems to me that if I saw my good mother at my 
side, I should be instantly cured.” 


268 The Mystery Unveiled. 

that be the case, thy fever will soon dis¬ 
appear,” said the Abbot Daufer ; ‘^for Father Man¬ 
fred has such solicitude for thee that I am very 
sure he will bring liither the reverend Abbess sooner 
than thou thinkest.” 

^^Ah ! Holy Virgin ! grant me that consolation,” 
cried Yoland. 

The Abbot Daufer went in search of the Abbess 
to lead her into the little cell. When she saw her 
enter, the young girl almost sprang from her couch 
in her great joy. Theotberga, who controlled her¬ 
self better, advanced gently to embrace her. Yo¬ 
land threw her arms round her neck and pressed 
her to her heart, without uttering a word. After 
some moments, looking at Theotberga, she said : 

0 mother ! how hast thou come into this soli¬ 
tude through the darkness, and the way so long ? 
I know that thou lovest me as though I were thy 
daughter ; but the charity of G-od alone could 
give thee courage and fortitude to endure all the 
horrors which my presence has brought upon thy 
convent. May the infinite goodness of Jesus re¬ 
ward thee ! Thou art restoring life to me ; I feel it 
running through my veins ! 0 mother ! I see thee 
again ! . . . I assure thee that, if death must come, 
it will be sweet within thy arms.” 

Calm thyself, my child ; do not agitate thyself 
needlessly; thou art still somewhat feverish, and 
excitement may make thee worse. I will tell thee 
later all that took place; but now rest in peace.” 

^^Yes, mother. . . . Tell me, at least, do my 
mistresses and companions know where lam?” 


The Mystery Unveiled. 269 

They are very sad, calling thee everywhere, 
hoping that thou art near, and canst hear them. 
. . . Leonida, Iseult, Gilla, and Elisa remained 
long hours prostrate before the Blessed Virgin’s 
altar. Jeanne the Fair and Jeanne from Auster- 
litz are fasting on bread and water; Gertrude and 
Hi!degarde have promised, if thou art found, to 
place on the statue of Mary, one a rich diadem, the 
other a belt studded with gold beads. Even Lid- 
wina and Paula, those giddy romps . . . but they 
have such good hearts. . . . Dost thou know what 
they did ? They excited general emotion in the 
study hall. . . . They both rose suddenly, ran to 
Sister Ounegonde, and, throwing themselves on their 
knees before her, said, weeping : ^It is we who are 
the cause of all these misfortunes ; our sins have 
drawn down on the convent the anger of the Bless¬ 
ed Virgin. ... We have so often promised her to 
be docile, submissive, pious, and we have kept 
none of our promises ! She is punishing us now, by 
taking away our dear Yoland ; . . . but, in future, 
we will be good. Sister Ounegonde; we will say our 
prayers fervently, we will not make our compan¬ 
ions laugh any more in church, we will be very 
devout at Mass : dost thou think the Blessed Virgin 
will give us back our sister ? We ask thy pardon for 
all the grief we have caused thee, and of all our com¬ 
panions for the bad example they have received from 
us.’ . . . And so saying, they kissed their mother’s 
feet, and wished to do likewise to their companions, 
who would not permit it. All shedding tears they 
said : ‘ Arise, ye have done enough ! ’ At dinner they 


2/0 The Mystery Unveiled. 

deprived themselves, of the third course, which was 
cream and cake, and brought it to the poor, distri¬ 
buting it to them for thy intention in honor of the 
Blessed Virgin, and added thereto some money, 
begging them all to pray for thee ! This evening, 
before supper, all thy companions went in proces¬ 
sion, with lighted tapers, to the altar of Mary, 
where they made a vow to offer her a heart of gold 
containing their names. But what shall I say of 
our poor blind Sister Columba, who has been para¬ 
lyzed and bedridden for twenty years ? When she 
heard of thy disappearance she burst into tears, and, 
raising her hands to heaven, she said: ' 0 my 
Lord Jesus ! look down upon thy poor servant, and 
have mercy on her. Restore my poor Yoland, who 
so often kept me company, and fed me so lovingly ! 
What hast thou done with her, 0 Lord ? Hearest 
thou not our sighs and lamentations ? Jesus, 
restore her to us, I supplicate thee with all the 
fervor of my soul, and I offer myself, through gra¬ 
titude, to suffer, by the help of thy grace, a great 
increase of my cruel pains.’ ” 

At these words Yoland could no longer contain 
herself; she again embraced the Abbess, and said, 
in a tone of deep emotion : Oh ! what charity I 
Good Sister Columba, wherefore wouldst thou suffer 
so much for me ? 0 Mary! our advocate, now 
that thou hast heard their prayers, and that they 
will know me to be safe, in place of increasing her 
pains, cure them entirely, in reward for their good¬ 
ness and charity. Mother, I entreat thee, thank 
the Sisters and my companions for their affection 


The Mystery Unveiled. 271 

for me. I pray Grod, in his infinite mercy, to re¬ 
ward them! ” 

The Abbot Daufer now spoke. Yoland,” said 
he, “be calm, and try to sleep; the Abbess will 
come again to see thee to-morrow, and will remain 
longer with thee. But to-night, since we are to¬ 
gether, we would decide on the safest way to re¬ 
move thee from the pursuit of the Marquis and 
from new insults. . . . Pray, my child; abandon 
thyself with filial confidence to the prudence of the 
venerable hermit, who has so miraculously saved 
thee, with the help of divine Providence.’’ 

He blessed the young girl, and retired with the 
hermit and Theotberga into the outer cavern, where 
they held a long conversation. All were of opinion 
that, on the recovery of the young girl, Raymond 
should accompany her into Bohemia, to the sanctu¬ 
ary of Boleslau, where he would transmit her to 
th^ arms of her much-loved parents. 



CHAPTER XIIL 

THE EUINED CASTLE. 

Ohe radiant summer morning two travellers 
were journeying along the road which led from 
Moravia to Bohemia, and urging their horses to 
great speed. An old, worn saddle and a knotty 
bridle did not improve the miserable appearance of 
their steeds. The strangers were themselves some¬ 
what shabbily apparelled. One of them seemed to 
be a countiyman, and the .other, who sat on the 
crupper, was a youth whose face was entirely cov¬ 
ered by an immense hood. He clung closely to his 
companion, and often concealed himseK behind his 
broad shoulders. Here and there, on the same 
road with the two travellers, and going in the same 
direction, were a score or so of men clad in hunting 
costume, divided into little groups, and holding in 
leash hounds and rabbit-dogs. They seemed as if 
in search of a favorable spot to let them loose in 
pursuit of game. The passer-by, in meeting the 
hunters, would probably have overlooked the two 
peasants, who seemed as if wending their way to 
some neighboring town, or, it may be, would have 
taken them for lackeys carrying the provisions and 

the game for the hunters. 

273 




The Ruined Castle. 


273 


The elder of the two horsemen was the faithful 
Raymond, Pandolph’s old servant. Our readers 
will doubtless have recognized him before this. As 
to the young man, riding on the crupper, it was 
the sad and beautiful Yoland. Scarcely had she 
recovered, when the Abbot Daufer and Manfred, 
in order to shield her from the persecution of 
Ottocar, made her depart, under this poor disguise, 
for the shrine of Our Lady of Boleslau, where she 
was to find her father. As to the hunters, they 
were the bravest soldiers of the Abbot of Znaim. 
Armed with pikes, daggers, and javelins, they were, 
while affecting to be occupied with the pleasures of 
the chase, to escort the young lady beyond the 
frontiers of Bohemia. They arrived there without 
accident, and took leave of Yoland, returning to 
render an account at Znaim of the success of their 
. mission. 

The fugitives arrived one evening in a little vil¬ 
lage where the inn was crowded with travellers. All 
the apartments were occupied. They were forced to 
sleep under a shed almost in the open air, where 
bundles of straw served them for beds. Raymond 
at first thought that this multitude of people were 
repairing to the blessing of some church, for at that 
time those sort of festivals always attracted a great 
concourse of people, and gave rise to a species of 
much frequented fair. But having risen early and 
set out with the crowd, our two companions arrived, 
after some time, at an immense field Gurrounded by 
venerable trees, in the midst of which an ancient 
oak spread its great branches. Beneath this giant 


274 


The Ruined Castle. 


tree was a turf-covered mound, on wliicli was erected 
a throne covered with scarlet cloth and resting on 
bearskins. The whole field was already filled with 
an immense multitude from all parts of the king¬ 
dom. 

It was Duke Wratislas, lately named King of 
Bohemia by the Emperor Henry IV., who was 
coming, according to the usage of the times, to dis¬ 
pense justice to his vassals. Behind him walked 
his pages carrying, on golden dishes, the regal crown 
and sceptre; after which came the esquires with 
his sword, lance, battle-axe, and buckler. The 
great barons of the kingdom, richly armed, mount¬ 
ed on noble steeds, were followed by their esquires 
and men-at-arms, bearing the banners of margraves, 
counts, or barons, who held their fiefs from the 
King. The procession was closed by aldermen and 
provosts, the Judges and magistrates of the crown, 
and finally by the executioners, bearing instru¬ 
ments of torture. 

The King mounted the throne. The Archbishop 
of Prague blessed the multitude, and the heralds 
passed through their ranks, sounding the trumpet, 
and crying aloud : “ Whosoever has lawsuitsj dis¬ 

putes, claims, accusations, exceptions, or privileges, 
let him submit them to the judgment of the King.’’ 
And the whole people cried with one voice; 
“ Long live the King ! ” After that, there was pro¬ 
found silence. Then bishops and abbots, mar¬ 
graves, counts, viscounts, castellans, knights, and 
the humbler vassals advanced to the foot of the 
throne and took the oath of fidelity to the new 


The Ruined Castle. 275 

King, and lowered llieir banners before him in token 
of fealty. Then the judgment commenced. Two 
potentates had a dispute in relation to a forest—the 
King admitted them to the ordeal of arms. They 
entered the lists, their lances were broken after a 
few passes, they then threw away the stumps and 
fought with their swords. One of them was van¬ 
quished, and, consequently, he lost his suit; the 
scriveners took note of it, and the combatants retired 
after saluting the King. 

The steward of an abbey was accused of having 
traitorously put to death the son of a baron. He 
denied the crime in presence of the King, and 
appealed to the judgment of Grod, declaring him¬ 
self ready to undergo the ordeal of boiling water. 
The King said to him : Thou wilt leave thy hands 
in boiling water whilst the Credo is recited twice.” 
A vessel of boiling water was brought. The King^s 
chaplain intoned the Credo, in which the people 
joined. The accused plunged his hands into the 
kettle, and, at the appointed time, he drew them 
out and raised them to heaven. The skin remained 
whole though the heat had been more than suffi¬ 
cient to strip it to the bone. The entire people 
gave a shout of great joy ': Justus es Domine et 
rectum judicium tuum. * 

The falconer of a baron was next brought up, 
who, through revenge, had plucked out the eye of 
an enemy. As the relatives of the wounded man 
would not accept the redemption-money, the King 


* Thou art just, O Lord, and thy judgm^ts are great. 


2/6 The Ruined Castle. 

pronounced, according to the code, the penalty of 
retaliation. The executioner then reddened, a steel 
rod, and, thrusting it into the eye of the falconer, 
plucked it out. 

Then came the turn of a servant, accused of 
having taken a false oath on the Gospel. The King 
applied the law in its full rigor. Immediately the 
executioner seized the hand of the culprit, placed 
it on a block, and cut it off with a hatchet; then 
he cauterized the mutilated wrist with a red-hot 
iron, to stop the blood, spread some salve upon it, 
and bandaged it tightly. 

Amongst the Lombards and even the Teutons 
the creditor could not deprive the debtor of his 
sword or arms. A Jew was made to appear before the 
King for having disregarded this law in relation to 
an impoverished knight. The King condemned 
the usurer to a heavy penalty, in spite of his tears 
and protestations. The Jew was obliged to pay it, 
to avoid being cast into a dungeon at the discre¬ 
tion of the plaintiff. The people cried: It is 

well done ! Burn the miscreant alive, he who cru¬ 
cified the Son of God ! ” 

A groom, charged with the care of the hounds of 
a noble lord, accused a peasant of having stolen 
from him a Dalmatian hound, spotted black and 
white, and having sold it to the forester, who was 
also summoned to appear. He came with the ani¬ 
mal. The King said: ‘^Let the law be put in 
force.” The peasant was obliged to take the dog 
on his shoulders and run three times round the 
meadow, amid the laughter of the spectators. 


The Rtihied Castle. 277 

A robber, accused and convicted of having stolen 
from tlie margrave a falcon of great price, had 
nothing wherewith to pay the fine. The king con¬ 
demned him to have two ounces of flesh taken from 
him by the very falcon. The wretch was placed on 
a bench, face downward. They fastened a falcon 
to his back, who tore at him until the executioner 
took him away. 

A highwayman was convicted of having robbed a 
traveller. As he was blind of one eye, he was 
condemned to lose his nose; such was the law. 
The first time, the thief lost his eye, the second, 
his nose was cut off, and the third, his ears. The 
executioner took a kind of razor, and cut off his 
nose to the roots. 

Two sorcerers were burned forthwith on a pile 
erected in the middle of the field. A blasphemer 
had his tongue cut out. A magician, who had slain 
a child for his hellish rites, was tortured with pin¬ 
cers and then burned. The King pronounced sen¬ 
tence on several trials touching civil suits, wills, 
boundaries of lands, the validity of contracts. His 
wisdom and justice were so great that, the court 
over, the whole multitude cried : Long live the 
just King 

These times were undoubtedly cruel, and the 
penal code barbarous; but they at least dispensed 
with the swarm of lawyers, so skilful in dragging 
out lawsuits and clogging them with flaws and 
technicalities which Solomon himself would not 
have been able to refute ; so ready at manufactur¬ 
ing long memoirs, and at obtaining high prices for 


278 The Ruined Castle. 

tlieir counsel, and never failing to add some dollars 
to their bill if one has the misfortune to stop them 
in the street to ask, "'How goes my case ?” 

Yoland and Raymond had taken care not to 
make themselves conspicuous. Hidden in the 
crowd, they heard the King’s judgments, and, when 
the sitting was over, the grand marshal knelt be¬ 
fore the King to announce the arrival of an em¬ 
bassy from the Marquis of Brunn. The sovereign 
welcomed the four barons graciously. They ad¬ 
vanced in splendid apparel, and, bowing before the 
King, " Sire,” said they, "we come to inform thee, 
in the name of our master, that a noble damsel has 
been stolen away from the Convent of St. Mary. 
He supplicates your majesty to deign to have the 
abductor pursued, and, if discovered, to have him 
conducted, well guarded, with the maiden, to the 
Castle of Brunn.” 

The King replied that he would willingly oblige 
the Marquis of Brunn, and asked the description 
of the fugitives. 

The ambassadors answered : 

"My lord, the young girl is about sixteen years 
of age. She is of tall stature. Her abundant 
ringlets are as yellow as gold. She has blue eyes, 
a fine forehead, a snow-white complexion, oval face, 
and vermilion cheeks.” 

Poor Yoland, who had been very pale since her 
illness, felt herself suddenly grow red. Her face 
burned ; she shook in every limb. It seemed to her 
that every one was looking at her. 

Raymond, perceiving her agitation, whispered : 


The Rumed Castle. 


279 


Courage ! ” And as the crowd was dispersing, they 
glided in among them. 

Instead of continuing their way to Bohemia, 
they turned and journeyed at random in the 
direction of Germany. They had already passed 
through a number of German villages, when they 
came, one day, to the gates of a great city, where 
they found a vast multitude assembled within an 
immense enclosure. They thought that a tourna¬ 
ment was about to take place, and went into a 
neighboring inn, manifesting a great desire to see 
the spectacle. Meeting a man of great height but 
of a frank and pleasant aspect, they asked him 
at what hour the festival would commence. 

The festival!” fiercely replied the Saxon ; say 
rather the slaughter which is to take place by 
order of the tyrant Henry. After having massa¬ 
cred the Saxons, he is now amusing himself in 
slaying some of his other vassals. Know, then, 
that he convoked all the barons to a diet. He 
had a proclamation proclaimed as far as Olden¬ 
burg, where, at Eustadt, reigns Count Hunon, 
the Kestor of the German lords. This old man, 
quite infirm and entirely devoted to the practice of 
good works, excused himself on account of his 
great age for the impossibility of his appearing at 
the diet. Henry, much enraged, accused him of 
treason, and intimated to him that he must present 
himself before him to atone for his contempt, 
bringing with him a champion to engage in single 
coaibat with the champion of the emperor. Thou 
knowest that such is the usage of the country. The 


28 o 


The Ruined Castle. 


worthy old man, feeling his conscience free from 
the crime of which he was accused, set out, accom¬ 
panied by a chosen escort and his son Frederic, a 
noble and valiant youth, whom he loves with inex¬ 
pressible tenderness. 

“Hunon presented himself the day before yes¬ 
terday at the palace, and, bending the knee before 
Henry, loyally excused himself for having remained 
in his castle. ^ Believe, sire,’ said he, ^ that I acted 
not from a spirit of revolt, but rather because of 
my infirmities. . . . Even my present journey has 
enfeebled me much, and, it may be, imperilled my 
life. Despite this, I am come at the renewed com¬ 
mand of your Majesty to prove to thee that I am 
ever faithful, as I w^as to thy grandfather, Conrad, 
and to the Emperor, thy father. I have brought 
with me, to do thee homage, my only son Frederic, 
who is scarce twenty years of age, but whose wis¬ 
dom and valor are beyond his years.’ 

^^Hunon’s noble words filled the archbishops, 
dukes, and other lords with admiration. They re¬ 
garded him with a sort of religious respect. But 
the cruel tyrant, looking angrily at him, replied : 

^ I hold thee as a traitor, and the ordeal of the 
sword alone can wash away thine infamy. Thou 
shalt have for thy champion thy son Frederic; 
mine shall be an African lion.’ 

“At these words the tender father shuddered; 
but, full of confidence in God, he left all things in 
his hands, and replied to the prince : 

“^King Henry, may Jesus Christ be, between 
thee and me, judge of my innocence !’ 


The Ruined Castle. 


281 


‘^It is to-day/’ continued the Saxon, '^that 
Frederic is to combat the lion. Strangers, pray for 
the noble knight.” 

With these words he went inside the paling. 
Yoland felt herself moved to compassion. The 
tyrant she regarded with horror. She prayed from 
the bottom of her heart to her Angel Guardian, 
begging him to interest Frederic’s angel in his 
cause, that he might obtain strength to triumph 
over the terrible beast. She entered, with Eay- 
mond, the immense arena, which was a mile around. 
At the extremity of the lists were erected two dais, 
richly hung with silk and velvet, ornamented with 
gold lace and*fringe, which shone like precious 
stones. Under one of these canopies sat the exe¬ 
crable tyrant, in company with the princes of the 
empire ; the venerable Hunon and his knights 
occupied the opposite pavilion. He was a fine old 
man, though bent by age. His hair, which was as 
white as snow, fell over his shoulders. His face 
was pale and sad. His lofty brow contracted with 
the weight of his great sorrow ; and one would have 
said that he was sightless, so greatly had his sorrow 
destroyed his energy. When he appeared in the 
tent, all the people shed tears of pity, inwardly 
cursing the barbarity of the tyrant. 

The heralds and kings-at-arms rode round the 
arena, then stopped before the throne, awaiting the 
signal of the king. Henry made a sign with his 
head. Then they sounded the trumpet and pro¬ 
claimed as follows : 

Frederic of Kustadt is about to prove by the 


282 


The Ruined Castle, 


ordeal of the lion that the Count, his father, is not 
guilty of treasou towards the crown.” 

At the same time the young Frederic appeared; 
he advanced towards his father, and, kneeling, 
asked his benediction. The Count, supported by 
two esquires, arose and said in a firm Toice : 

I swear to God, to the king, and to all the 
princes of the empire that I have never failed in 
my duty to the crown. Go, my son, fight bravely 
for the innocence of thy father! I bless thee in 
the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the 
Holy Ghost; and I promise the powerful Virgin 
Mary that, if thou comest forth victor in the com¬ 
bat, I will erect in her honor a temple and a 
monastery in the states under my jurisdiction.” 

The old man ceased, fell back in his chair, 
and bowed his head on his chest. Going down into 
the lists with his esquires, Frederic armed himself. 
He girded on his sword, donned his helmet, and 
commanded his men-at-arms to retire without the 
enclosure. He was a tall, handsome young man, 
straight and well formed. Cries and acclamations 
greeted his appearance, and the damsels seated in 
the balcony threw him roses, waving towards him, 
according to the custom of the times, bright-colored 
scarfs. At another flourish of the trumpets, eiglit 
horses, magnificently harnessed, dashed into the 
lists, drawing the iron cage which contained the 
fearful beast. Then, the horses being unharnessed 
and led away, a keeper sprang on the cage and 
opened the door. The lion came out, took a 
few steps, and looked around him, astonished 


The Ruined Castle. 


283 


by the concourse of people. Then his roar re¬ 
sounded through the arena and sent a thrill 
through every heart. 

Frederic had had manufactured a figure of a 
man covered with scarlet cloth. He took it in 
his arms, and, his sword between his teeth, he ad¬ 
vanced, calm and cool, to meet the fierce beast. 

At sight of the young warrior the lion stopped 
short, shook his flowing mane, lashed his sides with 
his tail, and with glaring eyes and parted jaws 
took some steps towards Frederic, then paused. 
But the young lord continued to advance towards 
the beast with a firm and decided step. The brute 
then glared at him, tore up the soil, and, resting on 
his hind paws, prepared to spring. . . . Frederic 
threw the figure to the lion; he caught it in his 
teeth, and began to tear it furiously, uttering 
low growls. The knight profited by the moment, 
and by a quick movement, threw himself upon 
the beast and plunged his sword into his heart. 

Immediately a great shout of joy burst forth 
from the multitude : Qui habitat in adjutorio Altis- 
simi^ in protectione Dei cceli commorabitur."^ J ust 
then the venerable Hunon had closed his eyes in 
fervent prayer. But, hearing the sacred anthem, 
he arose, and, at sight of the enormous beast 
stretched at the feet of his son, he thus gave thanks 
to God: Tste pauper clamavit, et Dominus exau- 
dwit eunif et de omnibus tribulationihus ejus saU 

♦ He that dwelleth in the aid of the Most High shall abide 
under the protection of the God of Jacob. 


The Ruined Castle, 


284 

'cavit eum, * The heralds-at-arms had come down 
into the lists. They escorted Frederic to the feet 
of the king amid the plaudits of the crowd; 
moved by the transports of the people, and fearing 
a revolt, Henry praised the courage of the young 
champion. He embraced him, bestowed on him 
the insignia of knighthood, and put a costly ring 
on his finger. He endowed him with vast estates, 
and freed the Count, his father, from all fealty. 

It is needless to say what part Yoland had in¬ 
wardly taken in the triumph of Frederic. She 
thanked Heaven for it. Alas ! was she not in a condi¬ 
tion similar to that of the young knight ? Her father, 
too, had been placed under the ban of the empire ; 
he was flying, deprived of all consolation, to escape 
the tyranny of the emperor. She implored heaven 
to proclaim the innocence of Pandolph, as he had 
glorified that of Hunon. But already the crowd 
was beginning to disperse, and Eaymond, return¬ 
ing to the inn with the young girl, said to her : 

Noble lady, we cannot now proceed towards 
Boleslau, after the promise which King Wratislas 
made to the Lord of Brunn. I know of naught 
better than to bring thee to Eome and place thee 
beneath the protection of the Pope. He is the 
father of the faithful, the joy of the afflicted, and 
the defence of the weak who have recourse to 
him.” 

Yoland was distressed at the thought of un- 


* This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved 
him out of all his troubles. 


The Ruined Castle. 


285 


dertaking so long a journey through countries 
ravaged by the enemies of God. However, full of 
confidence in God and his Blessed Mother, she 
instantly set out for Bavaria. But scarcely had the 
young girl and her protector journeyed for two 
days along the hanks of the Danube, when they 
met a numerous troop of horsemen. They judged 
it prudent to avoid them, and, following the course 
of the river, they intended to cross at Passau. 
These knights formed the escort of the Archbishops 
of Prague and Olmutz, who were journeying to 
Pome, summoned by Pope Gregory, to justify 
themselves before the Holy See. Jaromir of Prague, 
brother of King Wratislas, aspired to the supre¬ 
macy of the See of Olmutz, which Bishop John 
contested with him. Jaromir had then declared 
war upon him, but Gregory, on being informed 
of it, placed an interdict upon his diocese and com¬ 
manded him to come to Rome to explain his con¬ 
duct. 

The two prelates travelled with a numerous train 
of clergy and soldiers, and in a style as sumptuous 
as accorded with their nobility, their elevated rank, 
and great wealth. With the Prince of Bohemia 
everything bespoke his royal origin ; the Moravian 
bishop, though he was not of such illustrious blood, 
yielded nothing to him in magnificence. Both 
were mounted on superb palfreys richly caparison¬ 
ed. Their harnesses were wrought with gold and 
precious stones. Wrapped in ample cloaks of pur¬ 
ple garnished with ermine, the two prelates were 
each accompanied by two esquires, who rode on the 


286 


The Ruined Castle^ 


right and left of their steed, whilst a white mule 
preceded them, on which was borne the episcopal 
cross. Behind them came a great number of pages 
and lackeys, clad in gorgeous livery ; then the clergy 
of the hierarchical orders, mounted on fiery steeds. 
The prelates carried with them a great deal of lug¬ 
gage—the treasures of their chapels, chalices, cen¬ 
sers of pure gold, mitres adorned with precious 
stones, rings, clasps, copes, ornaments of velvet 
brocade. A battalion of soldiers, well armed, 
brought up the rear. 

Eaymond immediately recognized some of his 
friends among the train of the Moravian bishop, 
and, fearing that some annoyance for Yoland might 
result therefrom, he retraced their steps to jour¬ 
ney along the Danube, as we have said, and take 
the road to Augsburg. This was a very wise pre¬ 
caution. But none can foresee the future, and this 
resolve, which really seemed of use to them, had for 
both the most vexatious result. Having crossed 
the Danube at Passau, they determined to continue 
their way to Augsburg. For this purpose they 
wended their way over waste lands and lonely 
forests, where they were more than once in danger 
of being devoured by wolves. 

Once, when they had been journeying all day 
through countries desolated by war, they came, at 
sunset, to a large ruined building. This feudal 
manor stood in a charming spot on a hill covered 
with thick trees. Streams of pure water gushed 
from the rock and flowed through an uncultivated 
garden, where there could be yet distinguished, 


The Ruined Castle. 287 

overgrown with weeds, broken urns and fragments 
of sculpture, shattered, doubtless, by an infuriated 
soldiery. 

Raymond went in under the deserted porch and 
through the rooms on the ground-floor. Every¬ 
thing was in the same state of dilapidation. He 
found at length a small apartment with a chim¬ 
ney, and he decided that this would be the best 
place for them to spend the night. He then un¬ 
harnessed their steeds and led them into a little 
enclosure surrounded by walls, within which grew 
a fine, close grass. After this he returned to the 
ruin, kindled a little fire, and spread on the floor 
some handfuls of straw which he had found in an 
adjoining room. Taking some provisions from his 
wallet, they made a frugal supper, and retired to 
rest. 

Raymond soon fell asleep, but Yoland could not 
close an eye ; the solitude, the darkness, this lonely 
habitation, all filled her with a vague terror, which 
kept her awake and disturbed her in spite of her¬ 
self. Whilst the little fire burned on the hearth 
she kept her eyes fixed on it. It seemed to her that 
this was a sentinel watching over her rest. But 
gradually the fire died out, and the room was left 
in utter darkness. The young girl, overcome by 
fatigue, was dozing lightly, clasping to her heart 
the little statue of Mary, which she invoked in her 
fright. 

The night was already far advanced. Suddenly 
Yoland awoke with a start, and, opening her eyes, 
she thought she perceived a ray of light which 


288 


The Ruined Castle, 


glimmered on tlie wall and then disappeared. 
The blood rushed to her heart; she leaned upon 
her elbow, and thought she heard a dull sound in 
the distance. She called Eaymond, and said : 

^^Hearest thou aught ?” 

What is it ? ’’ asked he. 

I fancied I heard a footstep,” replied Yoland, 

and I saw a light pass along the end wall.” 

She had scarcely finished speaking when a new 
light flashed on the darkness, and again disappear¬ 
ed, to reappear a moment after. This time the whole 
room was flooded with it. Our travellers, bewilder¬ 
ed and half asleep, saw four wild-looking men enter. 
One of them cried : 

Who are ye ? ” 

Poor travellers,” answered Raymond, ‘^on our 
way to Augsburg.” 

Yoland, who had taken off her hood to sleep, was 
immediately recognized as a woman, spite of her 
man’s dress. Her long hair flowing over her shoul¬ 
ders had betrayed her before she had time to per¬ 
ceive it herself. One of the new-comers took her 
by the arm, and, making her rise, he said : 

‘‘My dear child, thou wilt follow us.” 

Yoland, trembling in every limb, threw herself 
on her knees before the man, begging him to have 
pity on her. 

“ Be tranquil,” said he; “no one will harm thee; 
but we have need of thy care for a poor sick per¬ 
son.” 

“At least, let my companion come with me,” 
added the young girl. 


The Ruined Castle, 


289 


no ; he must follow us,” replied another. 

The unfortunate child felt herself taken by the 
hand and led away from Eaymond, who vainly 
sought to rush after them. The eastern side of the 
castle rested on a steep rock, at the foot of which 
ran a torrent. Long staircases, which seemed to 
lead to vaults, ended in large apartments which re¬ 
ceived light and air from the side of the abyss. 
The strangers first entered a long porch, at the end 
of which opened a vaulted room, sustained by pil¬ 
lars of solid stone. Strewn in every direction were 
kettles, iron spoons, stoves, crucibles, hammers of 
all kinds, pincers, chisels, engraving tools, and all 
manner of implements, whose use was too evidently 
explained by the appearance of two money-presses 
in the middle of the room. Men of hideous aspect 
were keeping them in motion by iron cranks, which 
served to make the stamp on the surface of the 
material. They all worked silently. They only 
communicated with each other by signs; and the 
machine worked with surprising ardor and activity. 
In a corner there were immense heaps of candle¬ 
sticks, vases, crowns, crosses, reliquaries of gold and 
silver, all battered and twisted, which were to be 
thrown into the red-hot crucibles. Yoland per¬ 
ceived with horror that she had fallen into the 
hands of coiners, and that the place where she was 
was a den of outlaws. 

The man who had brought her led her through 
several rooms furnished with coarse beds, on some 
of which she saw men asleep. He stopped at the 
door of a little room tolerably clean and lit by a 



290 


The Ruined Castle, 


lamp. Yoland perceived tliereiu a coucli, on which 
lay a woman who appeared to he still young. 

^^This is my wife/’ said the outlaw; have a 
care of her. She is weak, and has need of thy 
charity ; he a sister to her.” And casting a soften¬ 
ed glance on the poor sick woman, two great tears 
rolled down his cheeks, and he went out in silence. 
Yoland approached the unfortunate, saluted her in 
a friendly manner, and offered her her services. 
The young woman smiled, and, taking her hand, 
she exclaimed : 

shall die easy, now that I see myself in such 
gentle hands. Tell me, what are thou called ? ” 

“ I am called Yoland; and thou ? ” 

Ida,’’ replied the invalid. 

Yoland cared for her with much charity, and, 
though she was frequently obliged to pass through 
the workshops, all the men were respectful to her, 
for which she thanked God, never ceasing to re¬ 
commend herself to him. E^ery morning Yoland 
knelt at the foot of her bed, and, drawing from a 
little leather bag hanging at her side the statue of 
Mary, she recited her prayers. Ida watched her 
without saying anything; but the devotion, love, 
and serenity with which the young girl prayed 
filled Ida’s soul with a sort of uneasiness which she 
had never felt before. The piety which, glowed on 
this sweet and gracious countenance, the sweetness 
of its regards, the humility and recollection of a 
soul which breathed its deep fervor in a gentle mur¬ 
mur of the lips—all this brought into the mind of 


The Ruined Castle, 


291 


poor Ida a host of new sensations. One day, after 
Yoland had finished her prayer, she said : 

^^My dear Ida, kiss the statue of the Blessed 
Virgin, and confide in her goodness.’' 

Ida did what she was askedj and, addressing the 
young girl, she said : 

‘ ^ Who is that beautiful Lady whom thou wouldst 
have me kiss ? Perchance it would be thy queen ? 
She is very sweet to look upon, though her face is 
full of supreme majesty ; and is that child the son 
of thy king.” 

At these questions Yoland was overcome with 
astonishment. 

^^What!” said she, art thou not a Christian, 
my poor Ida ? Thou dost not know the Mother of 
God and the Redeemer of our souls, who came 
down from heaven, made himself a little child 
for us, and died on the cross both as God and 
man ? ” 

^^I know no other god than Odin, son of the 
giant Boor, and brother of Yili and Ve, the most 
powerful gods, creators of heaven, of earth, and of 
man, to whom Odin gave a soul and life.” 

At these words Yoland, more and more amazed, 
regarded the sick woman uneasily. 

Ida, art thou not German ? ” asked she. 

I am from Luitilz,” replied Ida, ^‘but we are 
not Christians. On the contrary, my countrymen 
are always at war with those Danes who adore the 
Christ. It is, indeed, for saving a Christian that I 
am here in this place. Banished from the forests 
of my country, and exiled with Dunon, my has- 


2 g 2 The Ruined Castle, 

band, I was forced to make my borne amongst 
strangers. 

Our last war with the Saxons was disastrous to 
both parties, and each nation retired to its own ter¬ 
ritory, carrying away their wounded and prisoners. 
Among ours was a noble and valiant knight, the sou 
of a great Saxon prince, and scarcely eighteen years' 
old. But he was so strong that none could resist his 
blow, and in the battle be bad struck down no less 
than three of our chiefs. Having bad his horse 
killed under him, he continued on foot to fight like 
a lion. At length, surrounded by a battalion of 
our troops, he was obliged to surrender, and was 
brought a prisoner into our forests. 

The tribes whose chiefs bad been slain by the 
haughty Saxon demanded that he should be immo¬ 
lated on the altar of Odin to appease.the shades of 
bis victims. It was decided that it should be 
so. 

was the daughter of the high-priest of Odin ; 
the young captive was dragged into my father’s 
cabin, and bound to a log while awaiting the day 
of his death. Being the only daughter, I lived 
with my father, under the paternal roof, and to my 
care was confided the prisoner, who gave no sign 
of fear, nor seemed to bo at all afflicted by his mis¬ 
fortune. It was proclaimed in all the country that 
in three days the high-priest of Odin would sacri¬ 
fice on his altar, beside the sacred oak, the power¬ 
ful Saxon warrior. All the men of the tribe assem¬ 
bled and encamped with their tents near the altar 
of sacrifice. The night before the fatal day they 


The Rtiined Castle. 


293 


were all collected in tlie great meadow, talking over 
the new campaign which they were planning against 
the Saxons, and performing, by the light of resi¬ 
nous torches, funeral dances, with which they al¬ 
ways preceded sacrifices. 

I was alone beside the hearth, and the prisoner, 
kneeling on a log, was praying as thou hast just 
done. He raised his hands to heaven often, invok¬ 
ing a Virgin whom he also called the Mother of 
God; it is natheless that beautiful Lady whom thou 
dost embrace with such love and respect. I was 
moved to compassion, thinking that this young man 
was to be slain at the dawn of the following morn¬ 
ing. But when I heard him exclaim : ^ Emma, my 
dear sister, farewell; when thou leamest my sad 
end, pray for me/ then I, who had shed such 
bitter tears when the corpse of my poor brother 
killed in battle was brought home, could not now 
contain my sobs, and I said ; ^Prisoner, hast thou 
a sister ‘ Yes,’ answered he—^one whom I love 

with all my heart.’ 

At these words, seized with great compassion, 
I rushed towards him, I cut his bonds with an axe, 
and I said to him : ^ Go, fly, noble youth, and con¬ 
sole thy sister ! ’ I ran to the stable, saddled a horse, 
and added: ^ Ascend the mountain, cross the 

ford of Eeknitz, and journey on to the right.’ The 
young man leaped into the saddle and rode off. 

^^Eour hours later day began to break; I heard 
the warriors approach, and 1 feigned to be asleep 
beside the half-extinguished fire. My father came 
in with Dunon. He glanced around, and, seeing 


294 


The Ruined Castle. 


that the prisoner was gone, rushed towards me in a 
fearful voice : ^ Where is the Saxon ? ’ I pretended 
ignorance. ^ What! what sayest thou ? Where is 
the prisoner ? ’ Then, seeing the axe, which still 
lay near the log, he continued : ‘ Behold, I say, 
wherefore didst thou leave the axe beside him I 
answered that I had been chopping wood for the 
fire, but that, falling asleep, I had doubtless forgot¬ 
ten it. 

The consternation was great amongst the war¬ 
riors. Thej leaped into their saddles and rode in 
the direction of the Elbe ; but having reached the 
banks of the Keknitz, they found it so swollen by 
the rains that they were obliged to retrace their 
steps. Their rage cannot be described, and 
they wished to immolate me on the altar of 
Odin. Then my father spoke. ‘We will sacri¬ 
fice another Saxon,’ said he; ‘my daughter 
shall be banished from my hearth and from the 
land.’ Dunon, my husband, took the gold and sil¬ 
ver which was his share of the booty, and we de¬ 
parted with three horses. On our way we met 
these coiners; Dunon joined them, and we came to 
inhabit the deserted manor, where they carry on 
their trade, at the same time assisting the robbers 
of the country.” 

Yoland listened with affectionate attention to 
the sick woman’s story. She said with gentle 
gravity: 

“ Ida, believe me, renounce thy religion of blood. 
Thy false god Odin desires the sacrifice of human 
victims; our Grod, on the contrary, to give us an 


The Ruined Castle. ' 295 

eternal life, deigned to send his own Son, Jesus 
Christ, who was God like unto his Father. He 
came down on the earth, took human flesh, suffered 
and died on the cross to redeem our soul. His 
sacrifices are all of love, and, if we truly love him, 
he will raise us up from death, and will make us 
eternally enjoy his divinity in heaven.” 

Ida, full of astonishment, gazed at Yoland. 

‘^And with thy God -in heaven,” asked she, 

shall we also see the beautiful Lady ?” 

Undoubtedly we shall,” replied Yoland. She 
was always a Virgin ; the Son of God became man 
in her most pure womb. When Jesus raised the 
dead and ascended to heaven, he wished that his 
Mother should also rejoin him there. He had her 
borne up by angels, and crowned her Queen of 
heaven and earth. Ida, thou hast saved that 
young Christian, and Mary would reward thee for 
so noble a deed by giving thee Paradise. There 
thou wilt thyself be more radiant than all the 
queens of earth.” 

And what must I do to obtain that happi¬ 
ness ? ” 

Believe in Jesus Christ, receive baptism, ob¬ 
serve his law, which, with the help of grace, is sweet 
and easy.” 

At this moment Dunon entered, and, seeing his 
wife serene and radiant, asked her : 

My dear Ida, must thou not admit that thou 
hast a skilful nurse ? ” 

‘^Oh!” replied Ida, ^^she has told me such 
beautiful things. I wiU repeat them to thee after- 


The Ruined Castle, 


296 

wards. Imagine, Dunon, that the Paradise of the 
Christians is more beautiful than Valhalla.* 

The proud pagan shook his head, and answered 
coldly; 

Well, well, strive to recover as quickly as thou 
canst.’’ 

But Ida, consumed by a burning fever, which 
was slowly undermining her, was hastening to her 
end. 

Yoland never left her bedside. She wiped the 
sweat from her brow, and made her take a few 
mouthfuls of cold water ; in a word, she bestowed 
such skilful and affectionate care upon her that 
Ida could not refrain from exclaiming : 

‘‘ But thou art good, my friend ! Thou art more 
than a sister to me. Are all Christians like thee ? 
If I were a Christian, would I become as good as 
thou?’’ 

Better than I,” said the modest Yoland ; ‘‘for 
baptism would render thy soul whiter than snow, 
clearer than pure water, more brilliant than the 
sun ! ” 

“Well!” replied the sick woman, “baptize me, 
and make me as good and beautiful as thou art.” 

“ I cannot do it until thou dost believe in Jesus 
Christ, the Son of God, and in the blessed Trinity.” 

“I believe,”said Ida with sweet transport, “ and 
also in the Blessed Virgin, Mother of God. . . . 
0 my dear Yoland ! baptize me, for I feel that I 
am dying ! ” 

* Valhalla is the paradise of the Scandinavians and the resi¬ 
dence of Odin. 


The Ruined Castle. 


297 


Then Yoland raised her a little, took water, and 
baptized her. After the holy water had fallen on 
her forehead, Ida felt herself filled with a celestial 
joy, which shone in her eyes and on her face. She 
ceased not to cry out: 

^‘Yoland, I feel heaven within my heart; I 
would that I might soon die, to see Jesus and the 
beautiful Lady I *’ 

This Joy, this interior peace, much improved 
her condition, and Dunon, who often came to 
visit her, could not gaze long enough at her ; he 
said : 

Ida, thou art more beautiful than ever ; what 
has thy nurse done for thee ? She is not a young 
girl, but a heavenly being ! . . .” 

Dunon thanked Yoland with respectful admira¬ 
tion. Two days later Ida felt herself failing. Yo¬ 
land called Dunon, who hastened in, bringing with 
him some of his companions. She feebly moved 
her lips, pronouncing the names of Jesus and Mary, 
though she could scarcely articulate. Opening her 
eyes, she perceived her husband, called him, then 
raising her voice a little, Dunon, become a Chris¬ 
tian,” said she. Dare well.” 

She again pronounced the name of Jesus, and 
calmly expired. The coiners forced poor Dunon 
out of the chamber of death, charging Yoland to 
watch over the deceased. The following day they 
dug a grave in the little enclosure, and laid therein 
the corpse of poor Ida. Yoland planted a little 
cross over her grave, and prayed this happy soul 
to obtain of God the grace to escape from her 


298 


The Ruined Castle. 


captiyity and soon to reach the tomb of the holy 
apostles. 

Ten days had passed after this sad event. Yo- 
land, confined in ihe little room where Ida had 
died/ remained a prisoner, often shedding tears. 
She had declared to her captors that no living soul 
should know the mystery of those vaults; all was 
in vain. When she asked for tidings of Raymond, 
they did not answer. She spent day and night in 
continual fear, praying her dear Madonna to have 
pity on her. 

One night she heard, in the adjoining room, an 
unaccountable noise—the sound of voices and of 
loud laughter. They were discussing the pillage 
of a sanctuary, and she seemed to hear the voice of 
a woman above all the others. Yoland listened 
breathlessly and trembled like a leaf. After a long 
pause, during which the robbers had gone to sup¬ 
per, she heard them re-enter the next room ; a 
coarse voice said: 

‘^Go and sleep yonder, where thou wilt find an¬ 
other woman.” 

A moment after the young girl saw her come 
into her little room; she was a very tall woman, 
carrying a lantern, and she bolted the door after her. 

Yoland trembled, but, having glanced at the 
new-comer, she suddenly recollected her, and, 
throwing herself at her feet, she said in a low 
voice; 

Swatiza, aid me for the love of God ! ” 

The Bohemian lowered her lantern, looked at 
the young girl, and cried : 


The Rtiined Castle, ' 299 

Yoland ! thou here ? ” 

She then seated herself on the little bed, and 
Yoland, shedding abundant tears, related to her all 
her woes. For perhaps the first time in her liio 
Swatiza wept, so great was her compassion. She 
took Yoland’s hands, and, pressing them affection¬ 
ately, said : 

My noble benefactress, fear not. I know all 
the secret outlets of this castle, and I shall take 
thee out without any one being the wiser for it. 
Even here, under this bed, there is a trap which 
goes up and down. Those bricks which thou seest 
there are not cemented ; they can be removed very 
easily.” 

But I would also deliver Eaymond,” said Yo¬ 
land. 

I shall take care of him, if he be yet alive,” re¬ 
plied Swatiza ; “ but, meanwhile, there is no time 
to be lost.” 

She drew the bed into the middle of the room, 
raised one brick with a piece of iron, and had no 
trouble in raising all the others. The Bohemian 
then touched the spring of the trap, and it opened. 
She took the lantern, and, followed by Yoland, 
went down little winding stairs which brought 
them to the edge of the stream. 



CHAPTEE XIV. 

MANFBED OF TEAVEMUKD, 

When the two women had come to the foot of 
the rock, Swatiza, who usually walked barefoot, 
took Yoland on her shoulder, and bravely plunged 
into the deep water, which foamed and seethed 
around her. Soon she laid her precious burden on 
the opposite bank. Yoland, much alarmed by the 
noise of the torrent, warmly thanked her liberator. 
As they walked along, Swatiza related how she 
had succeeded in escaping at Brunn on the day 
when the two magicians of the court had been 
burned. 

I knew nothing,” said she, of that sudden re¬ 
volt, and I was quietly walking through an obscure 
street, when I heard behind me the cry of ‘ There 
she is—the witch ! To the fire with the witch !” 
At the same moment four men seized upon me. I 
thought I was gone ; however, some of them began 
to say : ' Bring her to the Hungarian Square—the 
pile for the magicians is ready. Be quick ! ’ 

The crowd grew greater every moment. It 
was impossible for me to attempt to escape. I 
heard them then accusing me of having stolen chil¬ 
dren. A sudden thought struck me. Having reached 




Manfred of Travetmind, . 301 

a neighborhood which I knew, I said to the crowd ; 
‘ Christians, if I must die, let me restore a child 
which I stole yesterday. . . . God may then have 
mercy on me ! ’ ‘ Where is it ? the poor creature ! 

O infamous thief ! where is the child ? ’ 

I assumed a penitent air, and rejDlied : ^ I 
placed her in that house yonder ; but do not alarm 
those worthy people. . . . Place yourselves here; 
keep guard at the door ; I shall return. Only give 
me time to go up and come down with the poor 
innocent.’ ‘Go,’ said the mob, ‘andreturn speed¬ 
ily.’ With these words they crossed their lances 
before the door. Now, this house leans against a 
hill. I rushed up the stairs, and leaped out the 
garret-window on to the neighboring lane, at the 
end of which was a cross-road where several paths 
meet. I rushed into the windings of a veritable 
labyrinth, and took refuge in the house of a poor 
workman. I afterwards learned that the people 
waited some time at the door, and seeing that I did 
not reappear, they went up into the house, and 
searched it from top to bottom. Of course, they 
did not find me, and it was rumored abroad that I 
had changed myself into a cat or a bird. When 
night came, I glided secretly over the ramparts, 
whence I was let down with the help of some friends, 
and was then outside the town. I crossed the moat 
safely, and came to seek my fortune in Germany.” 

Swatiza proceeded towards the cabin of a shep¬ 
herd whom she knew. She said to Yoland : 

“Noble maiden, follow my counsel; continue 
thy way as a pilgrim, and journey alone, at least 


302 Manfred of Travemund. 

till tliou dost meet with some prelate, or, better 
still, some noble lady repairing to the holy places, 
who will charitably admit thee among the number 
of her dependents. Thou hast provisions in abund¬ 
ance, besides, here is a little purse ; do not mind 
if it be old and well worn, thou wilt find therein 
enough gold for the journey and thy residence at 
Eome. But pull down thy hood, and rub thy face 
with herbs, which will somewhat darken thy com¬ 
plexion, for now thou art too beautiful, and that 
very beauty will expose thee to misfortune. Speak 
the Sclavic tongue, to avoid having speech with 
Germans, some of whom are for Gregory, and 
others for the Anti-Pope; these latter might do 
theejiarm. Thou hast learned Latin at the Con¬ 
vent of Brunn ; if thou, perchance, art passing by 
an abbey, thou wilt be enabled thus to hold speech 
with the monks ; but be prudent even with them, 
I know several of them who detest the Pope, be¬ 
cause he forbids them to sell their benefices to the 
delegates of the Emperor. The Pope calls that 
simony, from a Latin word which I do not under¬ 
stand. . . . Moreover, Pope Gregory exacts that 
they live holily, and it seems to me he is right.” 

Thanks for thy good counsel, Swatiza. I will 
recommend myself to my good angel, that he may 
guide and lead me safely to the tomb of St. Peter. 
I will also pray for thee, that God may lead thee 
into the good way and withdraw thee from the wild 
and wandering life which thou art leading. I trust 
he will grant thee the grace to save thy soul.” 

Ah ! lady,” replied the Bohemian, thank 


Manfred of Traveniund. ' 303 

God for having been brought up in Christian piety ! 
As for me, 1 am the child of a family of gipsies and 
thieves, who taught me to live by stealing from my 
earliest years. When I had stolen a chicken from 
the market, or linen from a laundry, my mother 
caressed me ; hut if I returned in the evening with 
empty hands, she would beat me and leave me sup¬ 
perless. And now I am a wretch, worthy of the 
malediction of Heaven.’’ 

^‘My friend,” said Yoland, pressing her hand, 
hope that the Lord, who leaves not a glass of water 
without reward, will not forget the service thou hast 
rendered me. . . . But, I pray thee, think also of 
Kaymond, and save him in thy charity.” 

They had reached the dwelling of the shepherd. 
It was still night. Swatiza knocked at the door. 

Hlpon,” said she, here is half a mark of silver; 
guide this young pilgrim to the highway 5 thou 
wilt arrive there before sunrise.” 

Ay, ay, Swatiza,” said XJlpon, who was a stout 
and lusty yeoman ; thou hast become a devotee 
just now, . . . But it would seem that in place of 
wearing the sackcloth and lacerating thy shoulders 
with strokes of the discipline, when going to seek 
indulgences, thou dost it by proxy ! Pfaith, that 
is good. . . . But if the poor lad be burdened with 
thy sins, I fear he will be overcome before he reaches 
the middle of the wood.” 

^^Gibe an’thou wilt, babbler, but hasten and have 
a care of the youth. Farewell, dear Lando, plea¬ 
sant journey to thee, and be not uneasy. May God 
go with thee ! ” 


304 Ma^ifred of Travemwid. 

And tlie so-called Lando set out witli the shep¬ 
herd. When they had reached the highway, the 
latter pointed out to Yoland the way to Augsburg, 
and took leave of the young pilgrim, to return to 
his cabin. The poor child, left alone, knelt on a 
stone, and, drawing from her pocket the statue 
of Mary, she recommended herself to her protec¬ 
tion. She prayed her to be her way, her guard, 
her light, and her defence during the course of 
her long and dangerous journey. Then she arose, 
with a light heart and a mind full of vigor, strength, 
and firm resolve. She was no longer the timid 
child of years before; she walked on confidently, 
and with as much courage as though she had been 
escorted by valiant warriors. 

About the hour of Tierce, she felt the need of 
some food. Swatiza had put a loaf of bread in Yo- 
land’s wallet before leaving the den of the coiners. 
She sat down in the shade, by the bank of a stream, 
and commenced her frugal repast. 

At this moment, she perceived another pilgrim. 
Attracted by the coolness of the place, he sat down, 
opened his satchel, and took out a little cup, half 
a loaf, and some slices of ham wrapped in chestnut 
leaves. Yoland knew by his dress that he was a 
Moravian. She regarded him attentively ; he was 
entirely unknown to her. Still she thanked God 
that he had sent her a companion whose exterior 
seemed worthy of respect. He was a man of ad¬ 
vanced age. His grave face, his distinguished 
mien, was rendered still more venerable by long 
white hair falling over his shoulders. The young 


Manfred of Travemund, , 305 

girl, in her borrowed garb, turned toward.s him and 
saluted him graciously in the Moravian tongue, and 
said : 

' Praised be Jesus Christ!” 

Eternally,’’ responded the old man, scrutiniz¬ 
ing his young companion. Thou art natheless my 
countryman, good youth ? ” said he. Where is 
thy country ? It seemeth not to me that I have 
met thee at Brunn, at Znaim, or at Olmlitz.” 

^^In truth,” replied Yoland, Zwittau is far 
enough from the cities thou hast mentioned. It is 
situated on the frontiers of Silesia.” 

^^Zwittau!” replied the stranger. ‘^1 went 
thither once with my father when I was a child ; 
so I scarce remember it. What is thy name ? 
Whither art thou going ? ” 

‘^I am called Lando,” said the young girl, ^^and 
I am going on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the 
Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, so as to obtain the 
deliverance of my father, who was unjustly con¬ 
demned to exile by his cruel enemies.” 

Poor child ! ” exclaimed the pilgrim. To 
undertake so painful a journey ! May God and his 
holy Mother hear thee ! Listen. I am also going 
on a pilgrimage to St. Peter of the Woods, in the 
Val Laggarina, and I offer to accompany thee 
with my whole heart, for thou dost inspire me 
with interest. Only I will not be going as far as 
thee. I made a vow to the Blessed Virgin to visit 
the shrine of St. Peter of the Woods. It is an 
ancient chapel, situated amongst the Alps, on the 
confines of Italy. It was built by Theodelind, 


3o6 Manfred of Travemund. 

Queen of the Lombards, and the Popes who were 
contemporary with Pepin and Charlemagne en¬ 
riched it with numerous indulgences, as well as 
the churches of St. Augustine of Pavia, St. Am¬ 
brose of Milan, and St. Matthew the Evangelist at 
Salerno.” 

I willingly accept thy company,” said Yoland ; 

and I return thanks to God for having found 
some one to guide my inexperience in such a long 
journey. The Lord will reward thee in his good¬ 
ness.” 

They soon proceeded on their way, reciting 
prayers and psalms. The Christians of that period 
assisted so assiduously at the offices of the Church, 
that frequent repetition established in their memory 
the psalms, epistles, gospels, and graduals of the 
holy Mass. 

They then conversed on political events in Mo¬ 
ravia. The pilgrim especially loved to dwell on 
the complications which were brought upon the 
empire in consequence of the unjust anger of 
Henry against Saxony and Thuringia. He de¬ 
plored the new war of extermination which the 
King had just declared against these unhappy 
provinces. 

‘‘After having snatched Bavaria from Duke 
Otho to invest Duke Guelph with it,” said he, “he 
now wishes to obtain the vengeance he has sworn 
against Eodolph of Suabia, Berth old of Carinthia, 
and other potentates of the empire. . . . Henry 
oppressed them like slaves; he confiscated their 
domains according to the whims of his hate and 


Manfred of Travemimd. ' 307 

fury. . . . The whole of Germany was in tumult. 
. . . Some espoused the cause of the king, others 
combated for the liberty of the empire, which the 
enemies of God, of the Church, and of the people 
devastated by murder, incendiarism, and pillage.” 

Yoland saw at once that her companion was not 
a man of low extraction. She asked him his name. 

am Theobald of Jamnitz,” replied the pil¬ 
grim. ‘‘While still young, I was admitted to the 
court of the old Marquis of Brunn as a page, serv¬ 
ing and carving at his table. As I grew in age I 
was instructed and exercised in the handling of 
arms, and I became esquire to the Marquis, and 
fought with him in Italy during the campaigns of 
the Emperor Henry, father of the present sove¬ 
reign. The Marquis had a son named Ottocar, 
whom he confided to my care. Under my control, 
he grew in beauty as in noble sentiments; he be¬ 
came a brave knight, full of generosity. Unhap¬ 
pily, these noble qualities were marred by a proud 
and haughty spirit, which would brook no counsel. 
And then perfidious courtiers, base flatterers, full 
of avarice and malice, flattered him and led him 
more and more astray. Scarcely had his father 
called liim to share in the government of his states 
than he committed two grave crimes. He first al¬ 
lowed himself to be led by evil men into showing 
himself hostile to the true and lawful Pope Greg¬ 
ory, favoring the excommunicated, to the great 
scandal of his people ; then he sought to espouse, 
before all and in spite of all, a young girl at the 
Convent of St. Mary. ...” 


3o8 Manfred of Travemund. 

But/’ interrupted Yoland, concealing her emo¬ 
tion, was he not already betrothed to Gisela of 
Moravia ? So, at least, I heard said.” 

Certainly,” replied Theobald. I grayely re¬ 
monstrated with him and warned him, pointing out 
the fatal consequences of such a foolish marriage, 
the shame of having broken his word, the anger of 
the Duke, who would be capable of marching upon 
‘Brunn and putting all the inhabitants to the 
sword. ... It was in vain. Blinded by pride, he 
sent his soldiers to assail the convent. . . . But 
the sacrilege did not go unpunished. At the news 
of this attempt the inhabitants of the country took 
up arms and massacred the vandals. Next day 
they rushed into the town and burned alive Otto- 
car’s two magicians. I was in the Marquis’s apart¬ 
ments when he gave the order to his retainers to 
surprise the convent; hence he suspected that I 
had made known his designs to the peasants. Yet, 
I swear to thee that I heard not one word that he 
said to the oflScer of the guard. However, neither 
my fidelity nor my former services, nor the care I 
had bestowed on his youth—nought could disarm 
him. He accused me of treason against his father, 
and if I had not taken refuge with my friend Man¬ 
fred, he would have sent me to the scaffold as a 
traitor.” 

I have often heard of Manfred,” said Yoland, 
not pretending to know him; “ he is a hermit in 
the neighborhood of Brunn. Some consider him a 
great saint, others regard him as a powerful ma¬ 
gician, whose spells can make the earth tremble, 


Manfred of Travemund, 309 

darken the sun, ruin the crops, and oyerflow the 
rivers. It is even said that he can give speech to 
animals and converse with them. He has, they 
say, at his service bears and wolves, whom he sends 
on the path of the deer. He calls the birds, and 
they obey him ; then he sends them with letters in 
their beak to the great Shah of Persia or the Sultan 
of Babylon, w^ho, it is said, pay him tributes.” 

What nonsense, my son ! ” replied Theobald ; 
these are the inventions and calumnies of the ex¬ 
communicated, on whom Manfred has made war, 
whose plots he overthrows, and whose plans he de¬ 
feats. The Abbot Daufer of Znaim and he are two 
men of eminent holiness, who honor the true Pope 
and sustain him throughout Moravia, Bohemia, and 
Germany. They denounce simony, and declare 
aloud that the priests of the Lord should not touch 
the sacred body of Jesus Christ except with pure 
hands, and with chaste heart and thoughts, because 
he is the Lamb without spot, purer than crystal, 
brighter than the sunlight. These wretches, viler 
than the dirt, calumniate Manfred, and pretend to 
consider him a sorcerer. That is not astonishing 
on the part of people who are audacious enough to 
impute to Gregory the crime of simony with which 
they are corrupted, and the vice of luxury with 
which they are infected. To insult him they use 
the coarsest epithets, calling him craven, demon, 
hell-dragon! They are so stupid and ignorant 
that they dare to reproach Gregory with having 
invented the obligation of sacerdotal celibacy, 
whilst the holy fathers and the doctors of all ages> 



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312 Manfred of Travemnnd. 

and orphans, his liberality towards the poor of Chris¬ 
tendom, on whom he poured, as in a beneficent 
shower, the treasures of his wealth: all these 
virtues, the true glories of the episcopal mitre, 
shone in Manfred with so bright a light that his 
renown extended to all the churches of the north, 
where his name was held in great veneration by the 
people. 

When he was informed of the cruelties which 
the pagan tribes of Scandinavia were heaping on 
the new Christians, his heart was filled with holy 
indignation. He joined with the bishops, abbots, 
and neighboring princes, raised troops, and with 
the help of that army waged a terrible war on 
these fierce nations. He rescued their victims 
from the torments which awaited them, freed their 
prisoners, compelled their oppressors to repair all 
the disasters which they had caused by burning, 
pillage, and the devastation of fields, of cities, 
churches, and monasteries. The ardor of his zeal 
was so great that he went to attack them in their 
very forests, where he took from the victors the 
fruits of their rapine. The prisoners were brought 
in chains to Christian territory; there they were 
condemned to rebuild the churches and dwellings 
with their own hands. They had to carry them¬ 
selves the bricks, the sand, the mortar and cement, 
necessary to build the towers and ramparts of the 
fortresses which were to defend the country from 
their incursions and attacks. 

For several years Manfred governed his church 
as a prelate and defended it as a warrior ; he en- 


Manfred of Travemund. , 313 

forced discipline among the clergy, justice among 
magistrates, but when his people were at peace, 
alas ! there suddenly came a terrible war to dis¬ 
turb his repose. 

Several Saxon princes, forgetting all Christian 
moderation, and jealous of the power of the Arch¬ 
bishop of Bremen, took arms and united to impose 
unjust tributes upon him. The Archbishop appeal¬ 
ed to his suffragans, who sent troops and assistance 
to the metropolis. Some marched in person at the 
head of their standards ; of this number was the 
valiant Manfred. 

The Saxon army had, among its chiefs, several 
bishops who were vassals of these princes, through 
the fatal custom of investitures. The emperor or 
prince gave the investiture of prelates the title of 
fiefs, and chose for bishops rather men of the 
sw -rd than churchmen, so that they might be 
found ready to second them in the intestine wars 
so common in our days. Fighting in the ranks of 
the Archbishop of Bremen, Manfred had frequent 
encounters with the Saxons. He defeated them 
several times, and forced them to return to their 
territory. Winter meanwhile came upon them. 
In the spring of the following year hostilities re¬ 
commenced. The Saxons marched with imposing 
array against the army of Bremen, and ravaged 
everything on their way, burning the grain, steal¬ 
ing the cattle, massacring the old men, dragging 
away the women and children, whom they sold as 
slaves into Courland and Pomerania. 

Having organized his troops, consisting of the 


314 Manfred of Traveinund. 

most valiant men of the country, Manfred entered 
on a campaign, and advanced with his allies to re¬ 
pulse the unjust aggression of the Saxons. He 
met the enemy on the banks of a little stream. 
Forthwith, not waiting to encamp, he ranged his 
troops in order of battle and commenced the action. 
The chiefs threw down the signal of defiance ; the 
trumpets sounded the charge ; and the two armies 
met. The first shock was terrible. At the head of 
his men, Manfred threw himself upon a margrave, 
and broke his lance against the breastplate of his 
opponent, who fell from his horse grievously wound¬ 
ed. Pushing his steed into the thickest of the 
fight, he struck right and left with the splinter of 
his lance, breaking the helmets of all the knights 
whom he met on his passage, and at length suc¬ 
ceeded in snatching from one of them a lance to 
replace his own. Then he continued to make a 
fearful havoc in the enemy’s ranks. Just then 
the Bremenese began to yield, but by the bravery 
of Manfred they regained the advantage, became 
reanimated, and rushing impetuously forward, they 
forced the Saxons to retreat into their trenches. 

^^At this moment a knight of great stature 
rushed impetuously to meet Manfred, who, after 
having routed the vassals of the Count of Catelem- 
burg, was proceeding to repulse those of Alberstadt. 
The knight wore a hauberk of very fine steel. The 
crest of his head-piece was of eagle’s feathers, sup¬ 
ported by two lions of silver above the visor, which 
entirely concealed the face of the knight. His 
scarlet coat-of-arms was embroidered in gold, and 


Manfred of Travefnund. ' 315 

his charger covered with a net-work of close mail 
which descended to the hoofs ; it had a chafing-bit 
of steel surmounted by a horn. 

The soldiers of Manfred, at sight of this strange 
adversary who rushed upon their chief, gave a great 
shout. Manfred perceived the danger, turned 
round, and, lance in rest, darted upon his new 
opponent without giving him time to stop and pre¬ 
pare to receive him. The shock was so violent that 
their lances flew in splinters, their shields were 
broken, and their horses fell and rolled in the 
dust. 

In the twinkling of an eye the combatants arose, 
drew their swords, and dealt each other such terri¬ 
ble blows that their breastplates were battered and 
their helmets broken. Manfred wielded the sword 
with remarkable skill; however, his adversary 
closed upon him and gave him a slight wound. 
Suddenly, Manfred made a leap and disengaged 
himself, then, making a thrust with his sword, he 
struck the unknown knight in the back, and he fell 
senseless. 

^•'Manfred ran towards him and loosed his helmet 
to make him prisoner. What was his grief ! On 
raising his visor he recognized Bishop Evremond, his 
friend. . , . He almost fainted on the body of 
his adversary. . . . A deep groan escaped his lips. 

‘ Evremond I’ cried he, ‘ 0 friend of my child¬ 
hood, dost thou know the hand which has stricken 
thee ? 0 miserable consequence of our fierce and 
barbarous times! . . . The bishops, ministers of 
peace, anointed of Christ to be the pastors of the 


3 i6 Manfred of Travemund, 

people, the sources of the charity of the Redeemer, 
are forced, by the cruelty of pagans, and still more 
by the avarice of the lords, to take arms, in spite of 
the command and the canons of the Church, which 
ever laments that she sees us oftener with the sword 
in our hands than with the cross, and more fre¬ 
quently with the helmet on our heads than with the 
mitre. Pardon me, 0 Evremond my friend ! par¬ 
don thy murderer ! . . .’ 

Saying these words, Manfred removed his hel¬ 
met. Evremond opened his eyes, and, recognizing 
Manfred, he said to him : 

^ My friend, I pardon thee from the bottom of 
my heart; thou art not guilty. . . . Thou art only 
defending thyself against the unjust aggression of 
our princes.’ 

And holding out his hand, he prayed Manfred 
to give him his in token of friendship and recon¬ 
ciliation ; then, feeling himself sinking, he con¬ 
tinued : 

^Manfred, man of God, confess me, and absolve 
me from my sins, and remember me in the Holy 
Sacrifice.’ 

The warriors moved away weeping. Manfred heard 
his friend’s confession, gave him absolution, blessed 
him, and drawing his episcopal cross from beneath 
his helmet, he gave it to him to kiss. Evremond 
expired in the act. Manfred had his consecrated 
remains removed from the field of battle, and, see¬ 
ing that the Saxons were completely routed and fly¬ 
ing in all directions, he gave orders to sound the 
retreat. 


Manfred of Travemtmd. ' 317 

The war ended. Manfred returned, still sad and 
sorrowful, to his episcopal palace. He went in 
mourning with all his household, and for thirty 
days had Masses said and the Office of the Dead sung 
by the canons of his household for the repose of 
Evremond’s soul. He remained in his palace, wore 
sackcloth, fasted on bread and water, ceased to cele¬ 
brate Mass, and, going down every night to the 
presence of the Blessed Sacrament, he scourged 
himself, and then prostrated himself with his face 
on the stone, praying and weeping till dawn. The 
month of mourning being over, he convoked a 
chapter of the canons, and entering the hall with 
bare feet and a cord round his neck, he prostrated 
himself before them, saying : ^ Here is the slayer 

of bishops; here are the hands stained with the 
blood of the Lord’s anointed; here is the cruel 
wolf who is no longer worthy to be thy pastor or 
thy father. Archdeacon, do thou arise and give me 
the discipline before all present.’ And uncovering 
his shoulders, still bruised and bloody with his 
daily austerities, he desired the Archdeacon to in¬ 
flict on him the canonical penance, whilst his 
priests, affected to tears, recited the Penitential 
Psalms, which were interrupted by their sobs. 

‘‘Manfred arose, all bloody, and turning to¬ 
wards the canons, he said to them : ‘ Deacons, will 
ye repair to Bremen with the Archdeacon, and beg 
the Archbishop to choose for ye all another pastor 
for this church, which I have stained with blood ? ’ 
At these words, he threw himself on the ground 
and kissed their feet, imploring them by the heart 


3 i8 Manfred of Travemtmd. 

of Jesus Christ to elect a peaceful pastor who 
would triumph over his enemies by humility, meek¬ 
ness, and by prayer ; one who would, in a word, 
turn the other cheek to him who smiteth. ‘ Yes,’ 
said he, ‘it is with these arms that lions are sub¬ 
dued, that serpents and dragons are trampled under 
foot, and wolves are changed into lambs. My 
brethren,’ continued he, in conclusion, ‘pray for 
me, and may God have ye in his care.’ 

“A deep murmur of sorrow greeted this dis¬ 
course. All of them rushed from their stalls, and 
crowded round Manfred, exclaiming: ‘ Do not 
abandon us, venerated father !’ But he answered : 
‘ Let none of ye touch me with those hands which 
daily hold the Lamb of Peace on the altar, for I am 
a man of blood ; ’ and he returned to his apartments. 

“ The episcopal palace had a door opening upon 
the Oder. In the darkness of night Manfred, in 
the garb of a pilgrim, departed by this secret out¬ 
let. A faithful boatman was awaiting him with 
his boat. He soon arrived on the opposite bank. 
AVhen the worthy man had landed the prelate, he 
knelt before him, and kissed his hand, melting 
into tears, and then returned to the city. Manfred 
passed through Germany and arrived at Breslau, 
where he remained some time. Thence he passed 
into Bohemia, and made a pilgrimage in Moravia 
to the shrine of Saint Mary at Brunn. He remained 
there three days, prostrate before the altar, without 
taking any food. He passed the night in prayer 
under the porch of the church, taking only a few 
hours’ rest on the threshold of the door. 


Manfred of Travemund, , 319 

'^The people who crowded to the temple curiously 
regarded this pale and attenuated pilgrim, ever mo¬ 
tionless and shedding tears. Every one asked who 
he was, but no one knew him ; and every one, as 
usual, made his little romance about the strange 
man. Some thought him some famous robber who, 
after his conversion, was seeking to avoid the world’s 
notice ; others were assured that he was some mar¬ 
grave, visiting the shrines of Germany in expiation 
of his crimes; others took him for one of those 
Danish Christians who had invaded England, bring¬ 
ing fire and blood to the convents and churches, 
and massacring the monks at the foot of the altar; 
others affirmed that he had been taken at Eome un¬ 
der Benedict IX. in the time of the three Anti- 
Popes, after having committed some thefts in the 
Lateran Palace and in the Basilica of St. Peter, but 
that Pope Damasus II., having released him from 
excommunication, he was journeying to gain the in¬ 
dulgences at the holy places, so as to shorten the 
canonical penance. 

On the morning of the fourth day, Theotberga, 
who had just been elected Abbess, sent the chaplain 
to him asking him to repair his strength, exhausted 
by such a long fast. She said to him, also, that so 
long as he wished to remain at the shrine she would 
be happy to furnish him every day with the neces¬ 
sary food. She begged him to pray for the wants 
of the Holy Church, so cruelly disturbed by the 
pride and covetousness of the great ones on earth. 

‘^Manfred was pleased with this holy place. He 
explored the neighborhood, and at length discover- 


320 Manfred of Travemund. 

ed, among the hills which lay between Brunn and 
Austerlitz, the cavern which he now inhabits. He 
entered it, examined all its compartments, and in¬ 
stalled himself in one of its caves. Every morning, 
at daybreak, he went forth to repair to the church, 
where he assisted at the offices, always prostrate on 
the ground. After the church was closed, he 
would proceed to the convent, where the Sisters 
appointed to distribute alms would give him a loaf 
of black bread, which he took into his cavern. 

The fame of his sanctity soon spread through 
the neighborhood, and, at evening, as he returned 
from the shrine, numbers would be waiting at the 
entrance of the cave to kiss his hands and recom¬ 
mend themselves to his prayers. These demonstra¬ 
tions afflicted the holy man. One day, as he was 
waiting, in the court of the convent, for his usual 
alms, the Abbot Daufer, who had come to visit the 
Abbess, passed quite near him. The lackeys who 
were in attendance on him being somewhat delayed 
by a carriage which barred their path, Manfred ap¬ 
proached the Abbot to hold his stirrup. When 
thanking the pilgrim, who had already seized the 
horse by the bridle to fasten him to the wall, the 
Abbot Daufer glanced at him. He thought he re¬ 
cognized his features,and was seeking to recall where 
he could have met the pilgrim. AsheAvalked slow¬ 
ly towards the convent, the Abbot seemed as if 
disputing with himself, shaking his head, and 
speaking half aloud: 

^ Still, the more I look. . . . But it is impos¬ 
sible, it is an absurd idea.’ 


Manfred of Travemund, . 321 

‘‘He at length went in to the Abbess, but silent 
and thoughtful. 

“ ‘ What makes thee so pensive, my lord Abbot ?’ 
asked Theotberga; ‘what strange adventure has 
befallen thee ? ’ 

“ The Abbot Daufer, rubbing his forehead and 
shaking his head, suddenly asked her : 

“ ‘ Mother,’ said he, ‘tell me how long since this 
pilgrim came here, he who remains so long pros¬ 
trate before the altar of the Blessed Virgin ?’ 

“ ‘ About six months ago I saw him for the first 
time,’ replied the Abbess ; ‘he speaks our Sclavic 
tongue badly, and, from his speech, one would say 
he is originally from Friesland or Scandinavia.’ 

“ ‘ Great God ! it is he !’ cried the Abbot joyfully. 

“The venerable Abbess looked at him in surprise, 
and knew not what to think. However, the Abbot 
Daufer became calm, and having conversed with 
Theotberga on the object of his visit, took leave of 
her and remounted his horse. He immediately 
proceeded, with his escort, to the pilgrim’s cave, 
alighted, and, leaving his horse with one of his sol¬ 
diers, bade them await him. Manfred had just re¬ 
turned to his cavern, and, seated beside a clear fire, 
was eating a piece of black bread. 

“Without saying a word, the Abbot Daufer ran 
towards him, embraced him warmly, shedding tears 
of joy, and exclaiming: 

“ ‘ 0 Manfred, my dear Manfred, dost thou not 
recognize thy friend Engeland, now the Abbot 
Daufer of Znaim ? ’ 

“ Much agitated by this unexpected arrival, the 


322 Majifred of Travemund. 

hermit gazed long at him, recognized him, and 
said: 

“ ^Thou art happy, 0 my friend ! to have become 
a monk, and withdrawn thyself from the seductive 
attractions of the imperial court. Alas ! I am no 
longer worthy of thy friendship, for thou art holy, 
and I . . . (he hid his face in his hands) I am a 
sacrilegious murderer! ’ 

^ Thou art a greater penitent than I, ’ replied 
the Abbot Daufer; ^ and thy fault is long since 
washed away in the abyss of divine mercy by thy 
contrition and penance.’ 

^Bngeland,’ replied the hermit, ^in taking the 
habit thou didst change thy name and way of life, 
and didst become much different from what thou 
wert as esquire to the Emperor. But I—I was a 
bishop ; and I did not renounce the profession of 
arms, and while making war, although indeed in a 
just cause, I slew Bishop Evremondwith my sword ; 
for he died beneath my blows ! ... Is my penance 
proportioned to my crime ? Can a life-long sorrow 
wash away so fearful a crime ? . . .’ 

On learning that Manfred was a bishop, the Ab¬ 
bot Daufer threw himself on his knees, and would 
have kissed his hand. But the hermit drew quick¬ 
ly back in alarm: ‘ Do not, dear Daufer, it is a 
blood-stained hand ! ’ So saying, he raised him 
and related his sad history. The Abbot consoled 
him, and leaving his friend, returned to the mo¬ 
nastery. 

On his arrival, he hastened to write to Walram, 
Lord of Travemund, and brother of Manfred, with 


Manfred of Travemund, 323 

'whom he had been associated when they were both 
pages of the Emperor Conrad, and afterwards 
chamberlains to Henry III. He took care not to 
reveal the place whither his brother had retired, 
but he consoled him with the assurance that Man¬ 
fred was still alive, and dwelling in a solitary place, 
where he passed his days in penance. He begged 
Walram to reveal this secret to no one excepting 
the Archbishop of Bremen. As soon as he had 
written this letter, he sent a carrier with it to Trave- 
mund. Walram answered immediately, thanking 
him with delight, and adding to his letter the sum 
of a thousand gold marks for his brother, which 
he has continued to send every year. 

‘‘ Manfred would not relax from his severe absti¬ 
nence, and Walram’s gold enabled him to aid the 
unfortunate. He became the father of the orphans 
and the providence of the poor of the country. 
Thou canst not imagine how naany tears he has 
dried ; how many young girls he has enabled to en¬ 
ter religion, or marry respectably; how many pri¬ 
soners he has delivered from the hands of merciless 
creditors ; how many old men he has fed ; how many 
poor priests he has supported at his own expense. 
He passes most of the night and day in prayer, and 
receives in his cavern all who come to solicit his aid 
or counsel. . . . The wounded are brought to him 
that their wounds may be dressed, for he knows the 
preparation of the most precious balsams; the 
young Marquis Ottocar himself, being wounded in 
the revolt of Brunn, had recourse to his remedies, 
and owes him his life.’^ 


324 Manfred of Travemund. 

Yoland listened attentively to Theobald’s recital, 
and felt therein a sweet satisfaction. She thanked 
Divine Providence for having granted to that holy 
man the grace to save her from so many perils, and 
to shield Count Pandolph, her father, from the 
fury of his enemies. They continued to journey 
along, discoursing thus of edifying things. Yoland 
performed for Theobald all the offices of a servant. 
Scarcely would they reach a lodging ere she would 
hasten to wash his feet. She made his bed every 
day, and when it happened that they found but one 
poor pallet, she would give it to her companion, 
and sleep on a handful of straw. 

Theobald was never weary of admiring the cha¬ 
rity and thoughtfulness of him whom he supposed 
to be a young man. But he felt a sort of pity to see 
him so frail and delicate. He was, at every mo¬ 
ment, edified by the piety and devotion of his com-’ 
panion, whom he often saw at prayer. When they 
came to a church, he always confessed and received 
Communion, with a modesty and recollection more 
like an angel than a human being. 

On arriving at Trent, they heard bad news from 
Italy. The ambitious and impious G-ilbert of Ra¬ 
venna, though not formally proclaimed Anti-Pope, 
as he was, some years later, at the Synod of Bres- 
sano, was declaring himself openly hostile to Pope 
Gregory. He was intriguing for the Papal crown, 
and was already considered by every one as the 
virtual Anti-Pope, and whoever was not for the holy 
Gregory warmly espoused the cause of Gilbert. 
After the Council of Rome, which excited so much 


Manfred of Travemund. . 325 

anger in the Emperor Henry, and among the rebel¬ 
lions clergy, because of the abolition of investitures 
and the canonical penalties proclaimed against in¬ 
continence, Gilbert remained at Eome to carry on 
his secret intrigues against the holy and austere 
Gregory. That pontiff made every effort to free 
the Church from civil tyranny, and to reform the 
lives of certain members of the clergy, who should 
surpass in purity the light of the sun. Now, Gil¬ 
bert, to conciliate the favor of Henry and pave his 
own way to the pontificate, conceived the horrible 
design of assassinating Gregory VII. He had re¬ 
course to Cencio, the most ruffianly, the most exe¬ 
crable, and the most disloyal of the Eoman barons, 
and, by means of gold and promises, he induced 
him to slay the Vicar of Jesus Christ. While he 
was celebrating the midnight Mass on Christmas 
Eve at the crib of the Saviour, Cencio secretly re¬ 
cruited his forces in Lucania, in La Pouille, and 
at Eome, with men as execrable as himself, who did 
not fail to be at their post at the appointed hour. 
The Pontiff had just finished giving Communion 
to the faithful, and the people were absorbed in 
solemn adoration, when suddenly the assassins 
rushed into the basilica, massacred all the assist¬ 
ants, tore down, with horrible oaths, the railing of 
the Papal chapel, slew several prelates, threw them¬ 
selves like lions upon the Pontiff, and dragged him 
by the hair down the altar-steps. There they 
kicked him and struck him with their fists, while 
the cruel Cencio struck him with his sword in the 
forehead. Then they tore off him the pontifical 


326 Manfred of Travemund, 

decorations, loaded liim with chains, and dragged 
him to Oencio^s castle, to deliver him alive to 
Henry. 

The report of this attempt soon spread through¬ 
out the city. Beside themselves with anger, the 
Komans sounded the tocsin, armed themselves 
with torches, and rushed through the streets, 
crying: 

Heath to the enemies of God and Rome ! Set 
the Pope at liberty ! Gregory for ever ! ’’ 

The people forced their way into the dwellings of 
Cencio’s friends, sacked and burned them; they 
entered every tower, thinking to find Gregory. 
Suddenly a voice was heard above the crowd : 

Gregory is in Gencio’s castle ! ’’ 

At dawn hundreds of Romans surrounded the 
palace of the traitor, assailing it with battering- 
rams. Scaling-ladders were applied to the windows 
of the tower, a large breach was opened, and the 
people rushed into and entered the castle to deliver 
Gregory. 

The perfidious Cencio, seeing himself reduced to 
the last extremity and overcome by the fear of 
death, followed closely on the footsteps of the Pon¬ 
tiff, threw himself on the ground, embraced his feet, 
and, weeping, implored him to pardon his crime 
and protect him against the fury of the people. 
Gregory received him kindly with open arms, par¬ 
doned him with paternal charity, and at once 
hastened to a window of the castle. He opened it, 
and exhorted the Romans to be calm and to return 
to their homes. But the enthusiastic multitude 


Manfred of Travemund. 327 

ruslied into the castle and carried Gregory in 
triumph first to the Capitol, then to the basilica, 
to celebrate the Divine mysteries. 

Cencio, who owed his life to the heroism and 
magnanimous charity of Gregory, received for his 
penance to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Un¬ 
grateful and treacherous, he took refuge, on the 
contrary, at the Court of the Emperor Henry, there 
to continue the commission of new crimes against 
his saviour. Gilbert, as cruel and as perverse as 
he, seeing the failure of his evil designs, took re¬ 
fuge in Lombardy, where, supported by Theobald 
of Milan and other dissolute lords, he stirred up 
dissension and raised a fearful war against the 
Church.* 

These events again completely convulsed the 
whole of Germany, whose troops made a descent on 
Italy through the valleys of the Eizack, to sustain 
the movement of the Lombards. Therefore, on 
their arrival at Trent, Theobald and Yoland found 
the town filled with soldiers, who were on their 
way to Verona through the valley of Lagarino. 
The prudent young girl, despite her disguise and 
the protection of the wise and pious pilgrim, feared 
to risk falling into the hands of the soldiers. After 
having honored the relics of Saint Vigilo, patron 
of the town of Trent, she said to Theobald that 
she would renounce her intention of accompanying 
him to Saint Peter of the Woods, for fear of being 

* Paul Bernried, chapters 54, 55. Lambert, in the year 1076. 
Adam Brem., “Histoire Eccl^siastique,” vol. iii. Voigt, “His- 
toire de Gr^goire VII.” 


328 Manfred of Travemund. 

molested on the banks of the Adige by the troops 
who guarded the gorges of the Alps. 

“ I think it more prudent,” added she, to go 
into Italy by the valley of Brenta, where the 
passage is safe and easy.” 

Theobald parted with regret from his dear and 
amiable companion. He called down on him the 
blessing of Heaven, and started very early in the 
morning towards Caliano, while Yoland went in 
the direction of the strong Castle of Bergen. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE SOLITAKY OF THE LAKE. 

The road which leads from Trent to the Castle 
of Pergen was far from being as smooth and 
convenient in the time of Yoland as it is at present. 
It is but recently that those openings, which now 
astonish the traveller, amazed at sight of these huge 
boulders, forced from their places by the iron and 
the mine, have been hewn in the sides of the 
mountains which overlook the river Fersino. Be¬ 
fore him stretches a broad road, which sometimes 
passes under gigantic masses of rocks, suspended 
over his head like the arches of a bridge cast in 
empty space. But at the period when our story 
opens all this did not exist. In place of travelling 
along a smooth, level road, the way lay between 
deep and abrupt fissures, scarcely giving passage to 
foxes and goats ; and often the road was rendered 
impassable by portions of crumbling rocks. Tra¬ 
vellers were constantly forced to keep the crest 
of the mountains, continually going up or coming 
down, according to the windings, by little, narrow, 
slanting, and tortuous paths, obstructed by bram¬ 
bles and brushwood. The journey, which was 
long and painful for foot passengers, was still more 




330 The Solitary of the Lake, 

so for liorsemen. In some places the path lay along 

the steep sides of the mountain and up high 

rocks, bordered on one side by enormous walls 

of granite, and on the other interspersed with 

fathomless abysses, in the depths of which was 
heard the distant roar of the waters of a torrent. 

Yoland, still disguised as a pilgrim, passed out 
of the gates of Trent, and at length arrived, after 
much fatigue, about noon, at a large fissure, over 
which hung a very high bridge. The valley, which 
was extremely low at this spot, was enclosed be¬ 
tween two mountains whose rugged heights here 
joined; and as the stream could not pass through 
them, its fury was concentrated at this point to 
such a degree that it had succeeded, by dashing 
against the stone, in wearing away the masses of 
granite, thereby making for itself a narrow passage. 
The high bridge rested above this abyss, and in 
the lofty parapets windows had been made wliich 
permitted the passers-by to contemplate its terrible 
grandeur. In the valley reigns perpetual darkness, 
the water of the torrent is black, and its foam 
always of a dark color. A black spray arises from 
it, and the cold, damp vapors add to the spectator’s 
awe. Looking through one of the openings in the 
opposite parapet, the waters are seen dashing with 
impetuous rage and rushing from abyss to abyss. 
They eddy and whirl and roar and thunder like 
the tempest, striking terror into the soul. 

Yoland, in spite of her fatigue, could not refrain, 
before sitting down, from contemplating these fear¬ 
ful rocks, for the terrible has its own attractions. 


' 331 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

She perceived some doves skimming gaily through 
the air, but, coming over the frightful gulf, they 
flew hurriedly away. The hawk made great circles 
to fly hence more quickly. The young girl took out 
her wallet, and was about taking from it a piece of 
bread. Just then she heard the sound of hurried 
footsteps, and from the forest which skirted the 
extremity of the bridge she saw advancing four 
stern-faced men, who seemed full of anger. They 
were dragging towards the bridge a woman pale 
and dishevelled, with eyes full of terror and de¬ 
spair. Having reached the head of the bridge, she 
began to tremble and cry, raising her clasped hands 
to heaven, and asking for mercy in a voice choked 
with fear. 

“ No ! no mercy for thee,” replied the men, O 
cruel woman, or rather hell-fury ! ... It would 
be a crime to pardon thee ! Thou didst murder thy 
husband and children. . . . Aye, and thou shalt 
be torn by the rocks, engulfed in the roaring waters 
of the torrent, which are like to the rage which thy 
unnatural heart excites in us ! ” 

And at the same moment they raised the poor 
woman and poised her on the parapet. At this 
sight Yoland arose, and, running towards the men, 
she cried : 

‘^Stop! and if ye are Christians, ye will not let 
her die without making an act of contrition, that 
she may, at the judgment-seat of God, implore the 
mercy of Jesus Christ!” 

In that age of faith, men even the most cruel 
stopped with respect at the name of Jesus Christ, 


332 The Solitary of the Lake, 

and before putting any one to death they left him 
time to recommend his soul to God, and ask of the 
Divine Justice the pardon of his sins. At the 
commanding voice of Yoland, whom they took for 
a pilgrim, they stopped, and replied : 

Good youth, let the wretch then ask for pardon 
of Christ for her crime, but let her not hope to 
escape death. As thou seest, she is still in the 
flower of youth, but her heart is as hideous and 
vile as her features are sweet and lovely. Married to 
a brave young man, she at first left him to lead a 
life of guilt; then, one day, seizing the opportunity 
when her husband was asleep in the forest, she split 
his skull with a hatchet. She had two little children, 
one five years old, and the other three ; this fury 
set fire to the thatched roof of her dwelling, locked 
the door, and the children were burned alive. But 
the devil urged her to the crime without giving her 
the means of concealing it. God permitted that, 
after having killed her husband, she threw the axe 
into a bush. Now, whilst she was feigning to 
mourn and lament over the murder of her husband 
and the loss of her children, in order to conceal her 
crime, a shepherd, cutting hay for his goats, 
found the bloody hatchet. It was recognized as be¬ 
longing to this wretch, who was at once arrested, 
judged, and condemned by the magistrate to be 
thrown from the high bridge.” 

Then, addressing the woman, who was beating 
her breast and asking pardon of God, one of the 
executioners said ; 

Make haste, and arise ! ” 


The Solitary of the Lake. 333 

^'Let me,” answered she, make my confession 
to this young pilgrim, that Jesus may pardon me.” 

And, kneeling before Yoland, sbe avowed her 
crime. 

Then one of the executioners took a handful of 
earth and put it in her mouth, as a symbol of the 
Viaticum, and immediately raising her, with his 
companions, they cast her into the depth below. 
She fell into the deep gorge, rolled into the torrent, 
struggled for an instant, and disappeared. 

It was a superstitious belief of those rude and 
barbarous times that if, at the article of death, a 
man had no priest near to absolve him, he could 
not obtain pardon of God without confessing his 
faults to some person present. This belief was 
principally founded on the words of the Holy 
Ghost: ‘‘Humble thyself, confess thy sins, and 
thou shalt obtain mercy. ...” To this may be 
added the custom, still in use at this period, of con¬ 
fessing, as they knelt under the j)enitent’s porch, 
to the crowd who came to Mass, certain great 
crimes, the avowal of which was calculated to in¬ 
spire in the others a salutary fear and shorten the 
duration of the canonical penance. In their child¬ 
like and pious simplicity, our ancestors believed 
that a confession made at the hour of death—even 
though it were to a person who had not received 
holy orders—would obtain for them absolution and 
the remission of their sins. So deeply was engrav¬ 
ed on the hearts of the faithful the dogma of Con¬ 
fession, which in our days is denied by Protest¬ 
ants and turned into ridicule by unbelievers. 


334 Solitary of the Lake, 

As to the strange custom of giving communion 
to the dying, by filling their mouth with earth, 
when they could not receive the sacred Body of 
Jesus Christ, we are inclined to believe that the 
earth was a symbol of the humanity which the 
Incarnate Word took upon himself. For, in truth, 
when he took upon himself a mortal body, formed 
by God out of the slime of the earth, Jesus Christ, 
like unto man, made himself earth.* It may be, 
too, that this custom dates back to the pilgrims of 
the Holy Land, who, dying in the desert by the 
darts of the Arab hordes, took as a viaticum some 
of this earth watered by the blood of Jesus Christ. 
This custom was most in use among soldiers dying 
in war, those condemned to death, or persons as¬ 
sailed in travelling by robbers. 

Yoland had not the heart to raise her eyes and 
see the fall of this unfortunate woman ; but, whilst 
the executioners were throwing her into the abyss, 
she threw herself on her knees and implored the 
mercy of God in behalf of that soul, for whom she 
also recited the Prayers for the Dead. She ceased 
not to intercede for the hapless woman until her ar¬ 
rival at Pergen. It was a trading town, the centre 
of the commerce of these rich valleys. The town 
lay at the foot of a fort, which stood on the summit 
of an immense rock, and which exists at the present 
day almost entire. In its triple enclosure of crene¬ 
lated walls, flanked by high towers, rose the palace 

* Formavit Dominus Deus hominem de limo terrae (Gen. 
chap, ii.) And the Lord God made man of the slime of the 
earth. 


335 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

of the ancient lords. It rears its head majestically 
over the crest of a high peak, and its picturesque 
outline, bristling with turrets and spires, strikes 
from afar the eye of the traveller who follows the 
road to Levico. 

The daughter of Pandolph did not stop. She 
avoided as much as possible remaining in the forti¬ 
fied towns, and preferred to proceed through vil¬ 
lages and open towns, where the roads were freer 
and surprises less frequent. In fact, none of the 
roads were safe at this period. A number of petty 
tyrants, cruel and rapacious lords, imposed tolls, 
taxes, and many other exactions on travellers, often 
in more danger within their hands than amongst 
thieves. The young girl renewed her provisions 
at an inn situated outside the city, rested a little in 
the shade on the highway, and went on towards the 
Lake of Levico. 

This valley, covered on both sides with thick 
woods, is now a quiet and sylvan spot. In the time 
of Yoland, the way through it was by a stony and 
rugged path, broken by ravines and precipices, 
which made it even to foot-passengers a very diflS- 
cult passage. But at some distance the valley be¬ 
came forked. A wooded mountain, whose opposite 
declivities sloped downwards into two limpid lakes 
—that of Caldonazzo on the right, and that of 
Levico on the left—divided it into two parts. 
Yoland turned towards the town of Valsugana, 
passing along by the Lake of Levico, whose waters, 
as clear as crystal, flowed in among the windings 
of the mountain and formed delightful little gulfs. 


336 The Solitary of the Lake, 

wherein swam and sported water-fowl, swans, and 
ducks, with green or varying plumage. This deep 
lake was shoreless. The slopes of the two moun¬ 
tains descended vertically to its edge, and were 
covered, on either side, by gnarled oaks, whose 
trunks, leaning over the abyss, were mirrored in its 
wave. This vast mirror reflected their leaf-covered 
summits, and borrowed from them a verdant and 
sombre tint, which, extending from one bank to the 
other, gave the whole lake the appearance of an im¬ 
mense meadow covered with soft and glistening 
grass. 

The beauty of this spot fills the soul with a 
gentle melancholy. The silence which reigns there 
is disturbed only by the gentle murmur of the wa¬ 
ter, stirred by the wind in the depths of the valley. 
These regions inspire a sort of religious respect. 
Everything there awakens noble thoughts, which 
elevate the mind to the contemplation of heavenly 
things. 

In the midst of the barbaric customs, the fret and 
turmoil of opposing parties, and urged by the general 
need of rest, many men of the eleventh century— 
after having passed their brilliant youth at the 
courts of kings, in war, amid the luxury of high 
stations and of human greatness, their hearts full 
of a faith which the passions could not quench— 
returned into solitude, and lived far from all 
communication with the world and the remem¬ 
brance of the people. These rugged mountains, 
whose sloping declivities overhung the lakes, served 
as a retreat for three or four solitaries who had 


The Solitary of the Lake, 


337 


here built their cabins of leaves. They lived in 
abstinence, feeding themselves on the fish which 
they caught in the tranquil waters. 

After having passed the night in a deserted hut, 
midway between Pergen and Levico, Yoland reach¬ 
ed these heights about midday. Overcome by 
heat and fatigue, she seated herself under an an¬ 
cient oak, to take her frugal repast. Scarcely had 
she opened her wallet, than she thought she heard 
sounds under the bank, which was thickly covered 
with alders and hazel trees. Fearing that robbers 
might be concealed in the neighborhood, she cov¬ 
ered her face with her hood, which she had thrown 
back to enjoy the freshness of a gentle breeze just 
stirring the foliage ; then she arose cautiously, and 
with the end of her stick parted the branches of 
the trees. Near the edge of the lake was a little 
lawn watered by a clear stream, whose waters, on 
a level with the turf-covered bank, flowed into the 
lake with a gentle murmur. Two tall pine-trees 
shaded this charming oasis, and on rustic seats, 
which rested against their trunks, sat two men of 
respectable appearance. One was old, with long 
snow-white hair encircling his face; the other 
seemed still in the vigor of manhood. 

He was relating to the old man how he had re¬ 
ceived, the evening previous, a visit from one of the 
officials of Pergen, who had told him of Cencio’s at¬ 
tempt to assassinate Hildebrand. 

It was at the instigation of Gilbert of Kavenna 
that this crime was perpetrated,” continued he in a 
low voice, But more than this, Henry, who re- 


338 The Solitary of the Lake. 

gards Hildebrand as the usurper of the Holy See, 
because he ascended the throne without Mb consent, 
has just been excommunicated with singular au¬ 
dacity by this same Hildebrand, on the pretext 
that he had given investitures to archbishops, bi¬ 
shops, and abbots only by the power conferred on 
him by the imperial crown.” 

Ariolfo,” said the old man in a grave, calm 
voice, thy visitor has repeated to thee as many 
falsehoods and calumnies as he has spoken words. 
In the first place, Gregory VII., and not Hildebrand, 
as thy provost calls him, is the Sovereign Pontiff, 
the direct successor of St. Peter, and that by the 
solemn declaration of Henry himself. To uphold 
the contrary, one must be ignorant and a schisma¬ 
tic. Thou knowest well that the Church of God 
was founded by Jesus Christ, whose Spouse she is ; 
she is also our Mother, and consequently our Queen. 
The Holy Ghost formed her; he directs and en¬ 
lightens her, and therefore is she the infallible 
guide of our ignorance. God gave her power, and, 
with her vigorous arm, she subdues hell and puts 
her enemies to fiight. Hitherto, she has been in¬ 
vulnerable : the anger of pagan emperors, the fury 
of the barbarians, the perfidy of heretics, of so¬ 
phists and false philosophers, and political craft, 
have alike been powerless against her. She has re¬ 
sisted and conquered in the past; she shall resist 
and conquer in the future. God said to Cephas : 
^ Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build 
my Church. . . Dost thou believe, after this, 
that it requires human consent to elect and confirm 


The Solitary of the Lake. > 339 

the successors of Saint Peter and his yicars on 
earth 

Thou art right, Herman,” replied Ariolfo; 
‘‘but if the successors and vicars of Jesus Christ 
have themselves made it a rule that the pontiff 
elected should be confirmed by the Emperor, under 
pain of his election being made null, wherefore 
wouldst thou obstinately regard this Hildebrand as 
the lawful Pope when he refuses to ask the ap¬ 
probation of the Emperor ?” 

“Thou hast always been a soldier, my dear Ari¬ 
olfo ; therefore is thine ignorance excusable. Learn, 
then, that the Church of G-od on earth is militant; 
that is why God purifies her by struggles, and some¬ 
times permits that her enemies oppress her for a 
time. Thus, about the middle of this century. 
Pope John XX. having Just died, the tyrants of 
Eome wished, at any cost, to elect a Pope after 
their own hearts. But the clergy and people chose 
another ; hence the Church saw Benedict IX. put 
forward by the Counts of Tusculum, and Sylves¬ 
ter HI. seated in the chair of Peter and disputing 
with him the government of Christendom. To nip 
the schism in the bud, the two candidates were de¬ 
posed, and a third was elected, who was to take 
the name of Gregory VI. But the two others 
seized upon the tiara, and the Church of Christ was. 
in a state of great turmoil, when Henry III. came 
into Italy at the head of a strong army and marched 
upon Eome. He immediately expelled thence Bene¬ 
dict and Sylvester, and obliged Gregory, on his part, 
to renounce his pretensions to the Papacy. Henry 


340 The Solitary of the Lake, 

chose and had elected Snidger, Bishop of Bamberg. 
He took the name of Clement II., and crowned 
Henry emperor. It was then that the Emperor 
made Clement promise, and the people swear, that 
they never would proceed to the election of a new 
pontiff without his express order.* Henry’s inten¬ 
tions were good, for the times were troublous, and 
haughty and violent factions arose on every side. 
But it was an entirely personal privilege, and not 
to be transmitted by Henry to his successors. 

‘^However, by virtue of the great axiom that 
personal favors are to be perpetuated by successors 
powerful enough to insist upon them, as soon as 
Henry III. had closed his eyes, and Stephen IX. and 
Nicholas II. had succeeded to Victor II. ; when 
Alexander II., of holy memory, had been raised to 
the pontifical throne and lawfully consecrated, the 
courtiers of the young Henry impeached Alexan¬ 
der in the name of the royal child, and declared his 
election null and void, as having not been made 
with the royal consent. Forthwith, they proclaimed 
the Anti-Pope Cadolaus, who brought upon the 
whole West innumerable troubles and misfortunes. 
What do I say ? We should have seen that anti¬ 
christ seated on the throne of Saint Peter but for 
the heroic Mathilda, the great Italian countess, 
^ who opposed to the fury of Cadolaus the wisdom 
of her counsels and the strength of her armies, f 
Now, thou seest the gross perfidy of the ene¬ 
mies of Alexander. The promise of Clement II., 

* Baronius, Annals, 1046. 

f Donizone and Fiorentini, Life of the Ck>unte66 Mai^da.” 


341 


The Solitary of the Lake, 

entirely personal, to the Emperor Henry III, and 
faithfully respected by his successors, Damasus II., 
Leo IX., and Victor IL, to whom Henry HI., when 
dying, confided the guardianship of his son, then 
five years of age, was maliciously interpreted by the 
evil-minded courtiers, who wished to transmit it to 
the young Henry IV. Alexander II., the Vicar of 
Jesus Christ, would then be obliged to solicit from 
a woman and a child the authority to receive the 
Holy Ghost! What sayest thou to that ? ” 

What! of a woman ? interrupted Ariolfo, 
impetuously. 

^^Yes,” answered Herman, ^^of a woman : the 
Empress Agnes, regent to Henry IV., who was still 
a child. . . . Besides, the promise of Clement had 
been made to the Emperor of the Eomans, and not 
to the sovereign of Germany, and Henry was 
simply a king, as at present. The German princes 
none the less disturbed the bosom of the Church 
of God in naming an Anti-Pope, under pretence 
that Alexander had not asked permission to be 
Pope of a woman and a child. The poor Empress 
Agnes repented of her crime, and went to weep at 
the tomb of St. Peter in Eome, where she embraced 
the monastic life ; but her son, become a man, 
persisted in his enmity to Alexander II., aud con¬ 
tinued to fight against Gregory VII., his successor. 
My dear Ariolfo, these ambitious desires, directed 
against the Pope, will not end with Henry; and, 
without being a prophet, I fear me much that the 
German nation—the most noble and generous in 
the world—will one day lose both, the Pope and the 


342 The Solitary of the Lake, 

faith, in punishment of its long and obstinate per¬ 
sistence in opposing the divine authority.” 

‘^According to that reckoning,” said Ariolfo, 
the Romans should long ago have lost the Pope, 
for they have so often shown themselves ungrateful 
traitors.” 

Always with this difference,” replied Herman, 
‘‘ that the Romans sin with an excess of vivacity 
of which they soon repent, while the German prin¬ 
ces and prelates knowingly and with deliberate 
purpose despise the authority of the Sovereign Pon¬ 
tiffs. . . . They would arrogate to themselves, as it 
were, a divine right; but God will punish them by 
the most terrible of scourges if he permits them to 
become separated from his fold, in which alone 
abides salvation and eternal life.” 

Thou saidst, a moment since,” replied Ariolfo, 
^^that Gregory asked the consent of Henry.” 

1 said so, and I will prove it, to show thee how 
perverse and impious is the war which the infamous 
Gilbert, with his train of libertines, vendors of be¬ 
nefices, adulators and flatterers of Henry, has de¬ 
clared against the illustrious Pontiff. 

A man of great judgment and noble heart, the 
monk Hildebrand long ago perceived that all the 
troubles arising in the Church were caused by the 
bondage in which she was held by the civil power. 
He conceived the sublime project of liberating the 
Church, which is a spiritual element, from all 
earthly servitude, of rendering her mistress of cre¬ 
ated things, because she is divine, and, as the re¬ 
pository of the keys of heaven and hell, to establish 


343 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

ter the supreme judge, without appeal, of all Chris¬ 
tians. The first point which was necessarily re¬ 
solved upon was that the Pope be elected by the 
Roman Church, and not by the Emperor; that 
when the Church consecrated him, this conse¬ 
cration was Yalid, independent of the imperial 
sanction. Hildebrand spent a long time preparing 
for the realization of this sublime and heavenly 
project—first with Leo IX., then with Victor II. 
and Stephen IX., and at length with Nicholas II., 
who at the Lateran Council proclaimed this famous 
constitution: ^ That the Sovereign Pontiff be 
elected only by the cardinals of the holy Roman 
Church, which suffrage shall include the clergy and 
people.’* These points being established, thou 
seest that Hildebrand was in the meantime elected 
to the pontifical chair by acclamation of the cardi¬ 
nals, clergy, and people, regarding him as the true 
and lawful Vicar of Jesus Christ, and, already gov¬ 
erning the Church of Grod with full authority, de¬ 
ferred his consecration till he had obtained the 
sanction of Henry. 

‘‘ In truth, the news of his election soon spread 
through Germany. Wicked men, who greatly 
dreaded this austere and incorruptible man, hasten¬ 
ed to surround the king, openly censuring the arro¬ 
gance and temerity of the Italians, who dared to 
elect a Pope without the king’s consent. Henry, 
who trampled under foot all laws human and di¬ 
vine, was alarmed, and sent to Rome the Count 

*Labbe, “ Councils,” vol. ix. p. 100 ; Muratori, vol. ii. p. 2; 
Baronius, “Annals of the Year 1059.” 


344 


The Solitary of the Lake, 


Eberard, of Nellemburg, to ask the cardinals and 
people why they had chosen a Pope without the 
royal consent. In case the Count should acknow¬ 
ledge the irregularity of the assembly, he was to de¬ 
pose Pope Gregory, and immediately name another 
Pope. But on learning of the arrival of Count 
Eberard, the Holy Father received him with kind¬ 
ness and exquisite courtesy. He said to him veiy 
frankly : ‘ Tell thy king that he who reads the 
hearts of all is witness that I accept with regret, 
and with bitter tears, the decision of the clergy 
and the Eoman people calling me to the sovereign 
pontificate. Furthermore, I besought and obtained 
permission from the cardinals to defer my conse¬ 
cration till I had received the approval of the Em¬ 
peror, princes, and bishops of Germany. I shall not 
be consecrated, if I learn that King Henry approves 
not of my election.’ 

Satisfied at finding such gentleness and submis¬ 
sion in Gregory, Henry sent to Rome the Bishop of 
Verceil, Grand Chancellor of Italy, to be present 
at his elevation, which took place in the following 
year, on the Feast of the Purification. And let us 
here remark how men of God always act. Gregory 
knew that he was Pope, having no need of the 
sanction of Henry to make his election valid ; he 
wrote to the kings, princes, and bishops, to encour¬ 
age them, to reprove them, to advise them, watch¬ 
ing thus over the interests of their souls and those 
of their subjects, as this is an obligation on him 
who governs the Church of Jesus Christ; never¬ 
theless, he desired the approval of the King.” 


345 


The Solitary of the Lake, 

But if Gregory considered himself the lawful 
Pope, independent of the Emperor,” asked Ariolfo, 
wherefore did he feign to await his sanction to be 
consecrated ? It seems to me that this is hypocri¬ 
sy and deceit unworthy of the greatness of Gre¬ 
gory.” 

My dear Ariolfo, thou art wrong,” replied Her¬ 
man; ‘^prudence is an essential element of great¬ 
ness. Hildebrand had not lost sight of his design 
of liberating the Church so long held in bondage 
by the temporal power, but he wished to unloose 
and not to break the chains. 

Now, thou seest the scandal given by Gilbert, 
and with him the princes and bishops, avaricious 
and dissolute courtiers, who regard Gregory as an 
intruder, pretending that he was not named and 
elected by the King of Germany! . . . Thou shalt 
see that, by means of his intrigues and outcries, the 
infamous Gilbert, who burns to be Pope, will fall 
upon us one day like a bomb. But, God be praised ! 
as long as Gregory draws the breath of life, Gilbert 
will be an Antichrist, and not Pope. Meanwhile, 
Western Christendom will remain in continual 
turmoil; and but that it shall behold, shining from 
the summit of Canossa, the luminous beacon of 
faith, it will know not how to direct its bark 
through the storm. There, happily, still glows the 
love of truth, there still beats a generous heart; 
and the invincible Mathilda, with her courageous 
army, has already defeated the evil designs of the 
Germans united against Pope Alexander. 

I repeat, Ariolfo, if the enemies of Jesus Christ 


34 ^ The Solitary of the Lake. 

attempt to invade Italy, to overthrow the throne 
of St. Peter, Mathilda will be there to oppose their 
efforts with the faith and courage of the noblest 
Italians. Therefore, as long as there remains an 
inch of the wall to entrench herself within, she 
will fight at the head of the brave Italians, and will 
come forth victorious from this most noble con¬ 
test. Farewell, dear Ariolfo ; it is now the hour 
of Sext; it is time for me to retire. Pray, my 
friend, pray; amid these terrible storms prayer is 
the anchor of the soul. Often recite this sublime 
psalm : 

“ ^ Why have the Gentiles raged and the people 
devised vain things ? 

' The kings of the earth stood up, and the 
princes met together against the Lord and against 
his Christ. 

‘ Let us break their bonds asunder, and let us 
cast away their yoke from us. 

^ He that dwelleth in heaven shall laugh at 
them : and the Lord shall deride them.’ 

‘^Yea, God shall make naught of their plots, 
their intrigues, their terrors, and their deception; 
and he shall mock and laugh at them, and shall 
show the foolhardiness of those who are dashing 
their brows against that rock on which the strong¬ 
est heads have been shattered from Nero and At- 
tila to Didier.” 

The two solitaries separated after this interview, 
Ariolfo dwelling in the forest which lies near Per- 
geno, and Herman in that which borders on Levico. 
Yoland had felt great joy in hearing them. This 


The Solitary of the Lake, 347 

conversation, which threw sucli a light on the va¬ 
lidity of Gregory’s election, caused her inwardly to 
thank God. But it made a melancholy impression 
on her to hear Herman augur so badly for Ger¬ 
many, which he already saw stricken by innumer¬ 
able evils, in punishment of its past and present 
rebellions against the divine authority of the Su¬ 
preme Pontiffs of the Church, of which God is 
very jealous. She then arose, finished her inter¬ 
rupted repast, and advanced in the direction of 
Herman’s hermitage. There she sat down at the 
foot of a tree, and resolved to take some repose to 
repair her strength. After a short sleep, she 
awoke, and, seeing the sun already slanting over 
the Lake of Caldonazzo, she resolved not to defer 
any longer the visit which she had determined to pay 
to Herman, in order to reach Levico before night. 

On approaching this solitary dwelling, Yoland 
felt a holy awe ; her heart beat, for she dreaded to 
hear the hermit confirm the terrible decree which 
he had declared against her country. About a 
hundred paces from the cabin was a little cluster 
of myrtle-trees, in the midst of which a cross 
seemed to mark the entrance to the hermitage. 
She'said a short prayer, and advanced with a light 
step towards the cell. Just as she reached the 
threshold, Herman arose, having finished his 
prayers. His face was radiant, his eyes moist, his 
features wore the imprint of a divine ecstasy. At 
sight of the old man, still glowing with a celestial 
light, Yoland timidly lowered her eyes without 
daring to advance. 


348 The Solitary of the Lake. 

‘‘ Approach, yirgin of G-roningen,” said the old 
man in a solemn yoice—approach and hear me. 
Jesus Christ has spoken. He cannot deceive ; he 
speaks not falsely. He has promised the infalli¬ 
bility of his Church, and that Church cannot be 
overcome. Faith is the most precious gift that God 
can give to nations. It is by faith that they enter 
the divine fold and participate in the fruits of the 
Kedemption, the infinite price of his blood, in the 
grace of the sacraments, in the light of the Holy 
Spirit, and in eternal life. But the gift of faith, 
which is incorruptible in the Church governed by 
the Vicar of Jesus Christ on earth, has not been 
always assured to the kingdoms and nations. In 
his mercy God pardons them many sins, but he 
chastises them still more in his justice. Oftentimes, 
in the inscrutable counsels of his wisdom, he pun¬ 
ishes kings for the crimes of the people, and strikes 
the people because of the crimes of kings. . . . 

0 house of Franconia ! 0 house of Hohen- 
stauffen ! thy crown is a crown of blood, a crown 
of troubles and calamities ! 0 Henry IV.! vaunt 
not of thy victories over the Saxons and Thurin- 
gians ! Boast not that thou hast crushed Eodolph, 
thy rival; that thou dost beheld Germany trem¬ 
bling at thy feet and the Church in disorder because 
thou hast sold the blood of Christ to the most 
covetous and dissolute. Take not glory to thyself 
because thou hast triumphantly paraded thine Anti- 
Pope throughout Italy, enkindled a destructive 
flame at the Vatican, and beheld the holy victim 
of thy fury dying in exile at Salerno ! Tremble ! 


The Solitary of the Lake, 349 

for at the moment when the laurels of thy triumph 
shall seem in all their splendor, thou shalt sud¬ 
denly behold them wither on thy brow and fall be¬ 
neath thy feet. . . . Gregory shall shine like a star 
among the elect of God in heaven ; but thou. . . . 
Sorrow will crush thy heart, for thy son shall rebel 
against thee; thou shalt be loaded with the curses 
of a people whom thou hast oppressed. Cast out 
from the bosom of that Church which has been the 
victim of thy cruel and sacrilegious fury, miserable, 
despised, consumed by remorse, tbou shalt die the 
death of the sinner, without shedding one tear of 
repentance ! 

Thy children’s children shall inherit thy 
crime, and I already behold the Hohenstauffens 
seize in their turn the dagger with which thou 
piercest the bosom of the Church, to plunge 
it once more into the heart of that holy 
mother, who weeps, chastises, and pardons ! 
But she shall arise more vigorous after 
being stricken; she shall come forth purer, 
more brilliant, from the bath of blood and the river 
of tears. Meanwhile, the most flourishing countries 
of Germany, the noblest and most generous por¬ 
tion of the flock of Jesus Christ, shall withdraw 
themselves from the blessed fold, led away by her 
princes and pastors ! Expelled from the healthful 
pastures and the living streams which gush from 
the pure bosom of the Church, she will wander 
among poisonous weeds and the troubled waters of 
error. 

The holy monasteries, the asylums of the first 


350 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

apostles of Germany, the most gorgeous basilicas, 
wherein resound day and night the praises of the 
Lord, the majestic cathedrals, the ancient sees of 
bishops, are sacked, profaned, burned, and over- 
tlirown, leaving only heaps of smoking ruins, 
mournful monuments of sacrilegious rage. 

‘‘Virgin of Groningen, wherefore growest thou 
pale ? Wherefore dost thou tremble and gaze upon 
me in terror ? Console thyself in the midst of ca¬ 
lamities ; for if Henry of Franconia and the Frede¬ 
rics of Hohenstauffen shall have drawn down on 
the German nation the just wrath of Heaven 
because of the long and bloody wars which they 
have waged against the Church, the house of Haps- 
burg shall arise, youthful, intrepid, and vigorous, 
to oppose itself like a wall of brass, like an impas¬ 
sable dike, to the haughty and swollen torrent of 
heresy which threatens to root out and extirpate 
the faith from every heart. Ferdinand of the Val¬ 
iant Heart shall be the invincible rampart against 
which shall dash the impotent effort of the enemies 
of the Church ; he shall save from this furious 
cataract a vast and noble portion of Germany.” 

The inspired hermit of Levico ceased for an 
instant, closed his eyes, and remained absorbed in 
profound meditation. At length, raising his moist 
and suppliant eyes to heaven, he continued: 

“ I see an emperor of the august house of Haps- 
burg denying the faith of his fathers. The times 
are evil for the Church. A hideous serpent soils 
with his poisonous slime a great number of the 
Catholic thrones of the West. ... A noble off- 


351 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

spring of the Hapsburgs imbibes this venom, 
steeps his pen therein, and writes laws, each one of 
which fetters the Church, and, from a mother and 
a queen, seeks to make of her a slave. The Church, 
enlightened by the wisdom of the Holy Ghost, is 
subjected, like a silly and unreasoning pupil, to the 
direction of the secular power. The divine laws 
have no power, unless earthly authority says to 
them : ^ Pass on; I admit thee ! ’ Bishops, clergy, 
doctrines, exterior worship, pious institutions of 
Christian charity, even sacraments, are bound by a 
thousand fetters; the Church is refused the free 
and universal government of her children; she is 
made as a stranger, a step-mother. 0 good and 
merciful God ! wherefore dost thou permit it ? 
Seventy years have already passed; a cruel and 
sacrilegious yoke weighs upon the august head of 
thy spouse ! She walks bowed and humiliated be¬ 
fore the eyes of her children. Behold the bloody 
wounds with which her heart is transpierced; behold 
her torn robe, her royal mantle, trailing in the 
dust! ” 

At these sorrowful words Yoland felt her heart 
oppressed by hitter sorrow. She fixedly regarded 
the prophet without making the slightest move¬ 
ment. All at once Herman’s face softened, his eyes 
shone with a gentler light, an ineffable smile 
parted his lips, and he cried out in a transport of 

joy: 

0 my Lord, so good and so full of love, thanks 
be to thee ! The tears of thy saints on earth have 
filled the chalice of thy justice ; their prayers have 


352 


The Solitary of the Lake, 


mounted to thy throne like the odor of incense; 
they have touched thy heart, and thou hast at 
length taken pity on the long and cruel sufferings 
of thy spouse ! Yes, here is the young knight of 
Hapsburg 1 His valiant arms gleam on the 
plains of Italy. ... I see him, his brow still gird¬ 
ed with the laurels which he has gathered on the 
Adige and the Mincio; he ascends with a firm 
step to bhe throne of his ancestors, and thence he 
surveys with a confident glance the vast empire 
which surrounds him. I behold him, humble and 
pious, place his laurels at the feet of the Immacu¬ 
late Virgin, who gave strength to his arm, valor to 
his heart, judgment and right to his genius. He 
contemplates with filial regard the Church, his 
divine mother; he sees her plunged in mourning 
and tears, bending beneath the yoke, irons on her 
hands and feet. At this spectacle the young prince 
trembles with indignation, and, addressing himself 
to her who regards him with hope and love, he 
says : ‘Arise, my mother, arise and reign in my em¬ 
pire, free and the mistress of thy children; to thee 
I swear, in presence of God and men, to be ever the 
most docile and respectful of children !’ Ho 
speaks thus, bends before her, breaks her irons, and 
kisses her feet; he loosens her chains, and, loving¬ 
ly taking her hand, he lays it on his heart, saying: 
‘Peel, 0 my mother! how my heart beats with 
love and respect for thee ! That unchanging heart 
shall know how to resist the fury of thy enemies, 
the snares of deceit, the envy which gnaws and 
consumes itself, the intrigues of heresy, the base- 


The Solitary of the Lake. 353 

ness of the wicked, who think themselves great and 
wise because by their sophisms and lies they rivet 
every day more firmly a new link in thy chains.’ 
Then, removing the yoke which weighs on the neck of 
the Church : ^ Eaise thy head, 0 Queen of Heaven, 
0 immaculate spouse of Christ, mistress and sove¬ 
reign of the Christian world ! resume thy diadem of 
gold, wherein shine the gifts of the Holy Ghost. 
Thy bishops surround thee; confide to their care 
once more the heavenly treasure of thy doctrine, 
in the universities, seminaries, schools, and 
books !. . . Command, and we shall obey; guide, and 
we shall follow; counsel, and we shall not stray 
from the path of duty ! ’ ’’ 

The venerable Prophet of the Lake spoke under 
the influence of an ecstasy which seemed to raise 
him above the earth ; his face shone with unspeak¬ 
able joy. One would have thought him one of the 
elect of God come down from Paradise. Yoland 
could not bear the supernatural brightness of the 
holy old man, and lowered her eyes. Then the 
hermit, coming to himself, perceived the young 
girl’s respectful fear. 

Eaise thine eyes,” said he, and console thy¬ 
self by the thought that nothing can happen in 
this world without the permission of the divine 
wisdom. God disposes all things for the trial and 
triumph of his Church, for the salvation of the 
faithful, for the glory of his name. Yoland, thou 
who shalt one day become my niece, thou shalt not 
go to the tomb of Saint Peter, but thou shalt em¬ 
brace the feet of his successor with that great prin- 


354 Solitary of the Lake, 

cess who is unequalled on the earth for valor, no¬ 
bility, and piety. When thou seest her, salute her 
on the part of Herman of Thuringia. Go, my 
daughter, depart with the benediction of Heaven ; 
for it grows late. On arriving to-morrow at the 
town of Valsugana, find the venerable Prunn, 
bailiff of the two castles, and tell him that Her¬ 
man awaits him at his hermitage to make to him 
an important communication. . . . Farewell!” 

Yoland would have wished to ask him a thou¬ 
sand questions ; but she was silent through respect, 
and retired, her soul filled with the future events 
which the hermit had announced to her. She 
passed the night at Levico, and at daybreak fol¬ 
lowed the course of the Brenta, in the direction of 
Borgo. 

The delightful valley of Borgo slopes towards 
Italy ; it is watered here and there by the river and 
the large streams which everywhere intersect it. 
The cool, clear waters bring with them fertility and 
life. Here, enclosed in canals, they set in motion 
machines which enrich industry and commerce ; 
there, they meander through meadows, watering 
orchards, beautifying gardens, and purifying the 
air from the icy vapors which come from the lofty, 
snow-covered summits of the neighboring moun¬ 
tains. 

At the entrance to the town, on two steep rocks, 
stand two ancient castles, whose airy outlines are 
traced against the azure of heaven, and give to the 
depths of the valley a grand and majestic aspect. 
These fortresses were built in the olden times to 


355 


The Solitary of the Lake. 

protect the yalley against the incursions of ene¬ 
mies. The mountains which extend east and south 
offer the most delightful prospect which can be 
imagined. Their declivities are covered with 
orchards, vineyards, fields, and meadows, all ex¬ 
tending from steep to steep to the highest crests. 
It is an enchanting picture, where richness of color¬ 
ing combines with picturesque wildness. Clusters 
of fruit-trees, apple-trees, peach, plum, and pear 
trees, and the golden vineyards, succeeding each 
other from top to bottom, make the mountain like 
an immense forest. Perhaps there is not, in all 
the Italian Tyrol, a more beautiful and attractive 
spot than this. Villas, castles, cottages, brighten 
the whole neighborhood, their white fronts peeping 
through the tender verdure of almond-trees, chest- 
nut-trees, and vines. On the other side of Borgo 
arises the mountain of Sella, covered with forests 
and pastures. Many lords there possess rural 
dwellings, whither they come to enjoy the delight 
of the fine season ; and, in fact, pleasant walks and 
unrestrained interchange of thought have a special 
charm beneath these shades, by the banks of living 
streams which, gushing from the rocks, glide like 
silver threads through the meadows. Let us add 
that the people of the country have lively, intelli¬ 
gent, and cultivated minds, which render associ¬ 
ation with them most agreeable, whilst they show 
to their friends the most cordial hospitality, ac¬ 
companied by the most varied and delightful 
amusements. 

Such is the Borgo of to-day. But in the time of 


356 The Solitary of the Lake. 

Yoland there were only stern and frowning castles, 
fortified with bastions, flanked with crenelated 
towers, and bristling with turrets. The valley, so 
fertile and smiling now, was then muddy and 
covered with briers. From the crest of the moun¬ 
tains the thick clusters of oaks which crowned their 
wild summits cast afar a deep shadow. 

Yoland was cordially welcomed by old Prunn, 
who dwelt in a manor whose front was mirrored in 
a branch of the Brenta. It was surrounded by a 
little garden, enclosed by arbors covered with ex¬ 
cellent grapes. Baskets of flowers, and a trellis- 
work covered with creeping plants, added to the 
graceful aspect of the place. In this enclosure the 
young damsels of Prunn, so beautiful and dis¬ 
tinguished, and no less remarkable for their virtues 
than for their wit and beauty, were wont to take 
their recreation. Yoland spent two days with this 
amiable family, still retaining her pilgrim^s garb; 
then she set out for Italy across the formidable 
gorges of Grigno and Primolano. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE BATHS OE ALBAKO. 

The Benedictine Convent of Praglia was founded 
about the year 1080 by Mautravers, one of the Counts 
of Montebello, between Mounts Euganean and Arco. 
It was afterwards enlarged, and became more cele¬ 
brated in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. It 
is one of the ancient monuments of the piety and 
religion of our fathers, which the Italians and 
foreigners who frequent the Baths of Albano 
never fail to visit, and each time the tourist finds 
therein a new subject for admiration. The vast 
edifice, the majestic arches, the four great cloisters, 
the lawns which surround it, the vastness of the 
halls used for the public assemblies of the monks, 
for exercises of piety, the innumerable cells 
wherein they retired to holy solitude, the magni¬ 
ficence of the corridors, the grandeur of the church, 
the bold and lofty domes and arches, all invite the 
soul to awe and recollection. Within these ancient 
walls, in these long aisles, silence, harmony, peace, 
and rest have made their abode. In this pious 
retreat, so fitted for contemplation, study, the mid¬ 
night chant, prayer ascended unceasingly to God 
to appease his wrath and draw down the treasures 




358 The Baths of Albano, 

of his mercy on a world stained by error, falsehood, 
ignorance, deceit—in a word, all the evils of 
human misery. 

Passing beneath these solemn arches, traversing 
the long aisles, walking in the hanging gardens, 
descending into the vast cellars upheld by long 
rows of pillars through which narrow windows ad¬ 
mit a dim light; beholding the marble vats where 
each monk was wont to come and wash his robe 
of serge ; viewing these sombre chapels, adorned 
with antique pictures ; breathing the air of this 
pious hermitage, where the holy monks lived far 
from the turmoil of vain desires, the soul feels itself 
elevated to feelings worthy of the nobility of its 
nature and the sublime end for which it was cre¬ 
ated. 

There reigned ever sanctity united to benevo¬ 
lence ; retirement rendered beautiful by hospitality ; 
wealth which was a benediction to the laborer and 
pilgrim. Indeed, a broad and generous munifi¬ 
cence unceasingly distributed alms amongst the 
poor, consoled widows and orphans, tenderly cared 
for old age, protected the innocence of virgins, and 
dispelled the evils attendant on public calamities. 
There, too, the noble crusader, at the head of his 
followers, going forth into Palestine to reconquer 
the Holy Sepulchre ; the pious matron making a 
pilgrimage to the tomb of the Prince of the Apos¬ 
tles ; the German, Suabian, or Danish lord coming, 
followed by his warriors, to defend the Holy See 
against the tyrant who outraged it, received, with 
their men and horses, the most cordial and courte- 


359 


The Baths of Alba7to. 

ous welcome. Every day hundreds of poor people 
flocked round the monastery gates, and received 
from the monks an abundance of all that was ne¬ 
cessary for their sustenance. One is astonished at 
sight of the immense granaries, wherein lay the 
heaps of grain reaped by the vassals on the vast pos¬ 
sessions of the monastery, and destined to furnish 
bread to the crowds who came thither from all 
parts of the country. But one is still more amazed 
at the stores, kitchens, fruit-trees, meat-shops, oil- 
mills, and workshops of all kinds where the monks 
worked with the laborers. Here are apartments 
for pilgrims, the guest-house for travellers, stables, 
hay-lofts, garrets. Those vast cellars wherein 
they stored the vintage ; the vats for the wort, 
as large as cisterns ; the arbors for preserving the 
grapes in clusters ; the presses, with their tubs and 
vats, can give some idea of the enormous quantity 
of wine distributed at the monastery every day. 

Our century, wearied in the pursuit of an artifi¬ 
cial civilization, cannot understand the grandeur 
of those ancient times, when faith and generosity 
were, so to say, innate. It deplores the amount of 
riches swallowed up in monasteries ; it cries out 
against their extravagance. But whilst pretending 
to speak in favor of the people, it will not admit 
that the wealth of the monk was for the people a 
benevolent resource, so much the more precious 
that they might have recourse to it without shame 
and as though it were their own. Afc the present 
day, these immense possessions are nearly all in the 
hands of wealthy proprietors, who, after having 


36 o 


The Baths of Albano, 


taken this revenue from the poor, squander it in 
vain luxury, in feasting, in display, and often in 
debauchery. 

Yoland journeyed into Italy along the verdant 
shores of the Brenta. She passed through Bassano 
and Padua, to continue her pilgrimage in the direc¬ 
tion of the Po, keeping beside its right bank. 
Leaving Padua, she entered the Euganean gorges, 
then all covered with forests of oak, firs, and larches. 
One day she arrived, about noon, between the hill 
of Tramonte and the. meadows which surround the 
bastions of the gloomy Castle of Berenger, enclosed 
by a double moat. The young girl, who made it a 
rule always to avoid drawbridges, took care not to 
approach the manor. She looked around her, seek¬ 
ing some rural abode where she might rest. She 
perceived a tolerably large farm, which appeared 
to be the dwelling of some peasant in easy circum¬ 
stances. Some little children were playing on the 
threshold, and in the house she could soon per¬ 
ceive a pretty young girl, tall, rosy, and strong, 
who was busy combing with filial care the snow- 
white hair of a venerable woman. This was the 
young girl’s grandmother. The grand-daughter 
was collecting the scattered locks which remained 
on the old woman’s head, and fastening them in a 
knot. The old woman was more than one hun¬ 
dred and four years old, but age had neither de¬ 
stroyed her sight nor her hearing; her teeth were 
strong and whole, acquitting themselves wonderful¬ 
ly of their office. Tall and straight, with figure and 
head erect, one would have taken her for a woman of 


The Baths of Albano. 


361 


fifty, had not innumerable wrinkles appeared on 
her cheeks and brow. Her limbs were a little stiff, 
and she could walk but slowly, leaning on a stick. 
Soon she arose from the stool on which she was 
seated, and, addressing the young girl, she said : 

‘^My dear Justine, I thank thee ! God will re¬ 
ward thee for thy kindness to thine old grand¬ 
mother ! ” 

Just then Yoland entered, clad in her pilgrim’s 
dress, and the hood drawn over her face. She ad¬ 
vanced modestly, and asked hospitality for the love 
of God. 

“ Thou art welcome,” said the old woman ; be¬ 
neath Gilda’s roof, my dear son, there is for all a 
cordial welcome. Enter and be seated. Our wo¬ 
men have gone to carry the breakfast to the hay¬ 
makers ; on their return they will serve us dinner. 
Meanwhile, Justine, bring forth bread, butter, and 
honey.” 

The young girl took from a closet what the good 
woman had desired, and placed it on a walnut 
table in the middle of the room. The venerable 
dame sat opposite Yoland, and looked into her 
very eyes. 

Ay ! ” said she, but thou art young and frail, 
my dear child! Whence comest thou, my son, and 
whither art thou going ?” 

I come from afar, good mother; I vowed a 
pilgrimage to the tomb of the holy Apostles.” 

^‘Ay ! I went thither, too, in my youth, with 
my poor father,” said old Gilda. It was in the 
time of the Emperor Otho II. I saw and venerated 


362 


The Baths of Albano. 


the chains of St. Peter in the basilica of Eudoxia, 
thirty years after the great miracle performed 
through them on an esquire of Otho the Great. He 
was possessed by the deyil, and the touch of those 
sacred chains forced him to depart from him. 
When thou art at Rome, good youth, kiss with re¬ 
spect the chains of the Prince of the Apostles, and 
thou shalt have naught to fear from magic, appari¬ 
tions, phantoms, lost souls, or devils. Thou seest 
my hair is perfectly white, except near my forehead, 
where there is one lock as black as that of Justine. 
I will tell thee why. Engellon, my poor hus¬ 
band—may he rest in peace !—attributed it to the 
touch of those sacred chains. The same thing 
will happen to thee if thou placest them on thy 
head.’’ 

^^Pray Heaven, good mother,” replied Yoland, 
^^that I may succeed in reaching Rome, where I 
shall devoutly kiss those holy relics, that, through 
the merits of St. Peter, I may obtain firmness in 
my faith, love and respect towards the Holy See, 
obedience to the Supreme Pastor of the Church, 
without which virtues I may not hope to attain 
eternal life.” 

The old woman loved to talk, and, once started, 
she stopped not on the road ; she therefore quickly 
replied: 

I assure thee that since then I have never suf¬ 
fered from, magic, nor enchantments, nor the at¬ 
tacks of the evil spirits. Is it not a great reward, 
a signal privilege, which many queens do not pos¬ 
sess ? My dear child, we dwell in a country which 


The Baths of Albano. 363 

is very dangerous, very unsafe. . , Alas I one gate 
of liell opens among the Euganean Hills ! ” 

What sayest thou said Yoland. Sin is the 
only gate of hell. ... I have never heard that there 
was other means of entrance.” 

Thou art still young, my son,” continued the 
old woman. Listen! Three miles from this 
mountain stands an eminence named Albano, 
because of a rock whence flows a great stream of 
boiling water. It forms a little lake as blue as 
indigo, and around this lake, through Assures in 
the earth, also gush forth great streams of boiling 
water. This lake and its sources fill the surround¬ 
ing air with a suffocating odor of sulphur. A thick, 
black smoke comes thence, darkening the air. Our 
old men tell us that Cain, wandering on the earth, 
and ever pursued by the shade of Abel, came one 
day to this place. Overcome by fatigue and de¬ 
spair, he threw himself on the ground to sleep. 
But the earth opened and the fratricide fell into 
hell. He was a giant; and God sent up the Eu¬ 
ganean Hills to fill the immense cavity which he 
made in his fall. A prey to cruel torture, Cain 
seized Lucifer and hoisted him on his shoulders; 
thence he shook the base of Mounts Albano and 
Ortona ; he clung to them, and in his rage forced 
them upwards. . . . Sweat stood on all his limbs, 
and this sweat, impregnated with the sulphur and 
brimstone of hell, came through the flames which 
surrounded his enormous body. It oozed through 
the rock, flowed into the deep caverns formed by 
the clefts in the rocks, and rose into the air boiling 


3^4 


The Baths of Albano, 


and smoky. Hence, in these accursed waters no 
fish are found. Geese, ducks, nor water-fowl of 
any kind ever swim therein, and the thick vapor 
infests the air to such a degree as to cause death. 

'^But these boiling, hellish waters are not all. 
On the crest of the hills of Tramonte, of Torreglia, 
of Eovolone, and Carbonare, it is not uncommon 
to see the shade of Lamech scouring these coun¬ 
tries in search of Cain, whom he has pursued for 
nearly six thousand years. This threatening 
spectre bears a bended bow, ready to draw it on 
the murderer of Abel. His whole body emits a 
thick smoke, which forms masses of cloud around 
him. When he calls Cain, his voice resounds like 
thunder through the valleys. Our mountaineers 
often behold this prodigy when the moon is near 
its full. When the giant Lamech comes near the 
side of Tramonte, the earth is heard to roar as in a 
bellows ; it trembles and shakes the leaves of trees, 
which fall, wither, and are blown away by a whirl¬ 
wind. Then Lamech thrusts the top of his head 
through the earth, and his hair, as stiff as a forest 
of lances, rustles with a noise like the shivering of 
the trees in the woods. The dogs howl, bulls roar, 
horses neigh, sheep bleat. . . . The spectre rises to 
his full height, and placing one foot on Mount 
Arco, and the other on that of Tramonte, he stands 
so high that his head and chest veil the light of the 
sun. ...” 

Good dame,” interrupted Yoland, ‘‘hast thou 
ever beheld this spectre ? It must be horrible; and 
as for me, I should die of fright 1 ” 


The Baths of Albano, 


365 


I told thee already that my forehead was touch¬ 
ed at Eome by the chains of Sfc. Peter. Ay ! 
and their sacred touch dispels all visions, and I 
could not see the spectre of Lamech. Learn also 
that the entire plain which surrounds the hot 
waters of Albano is haunted by the wandering 
souls of the Euganeans—ancient, yea, very ancient 
people, who came thither by sea, everywhere prac¬ 
tising fearful cruelties. They died one after the 
other, and divine justice condemned each in succes¬ 
sion to wander, till the day of the last judgment, in 
these regions ; and they never cease by day or night. 
At the first stroke of midnight all these souls go 
to bathe and quench their thirst in the sulphurous 
waters of Albano, where they sigh and groan till 
the dawn of day. They are invisible; but if, by ill 
luck, they chance to touch some passing Chris¬ 
tian, he falls from his horse, if he is riding, or, if 
on foot, he falls on the ground, and has but twenty- 
four hours to live. One day Baldo, my poor 
cousin (I now speak of a misfortune which hap¬ 
pened eighty years ago, but I remember it as though 
it were yesterday), was returning about noon from 
Mount Ortona. He was covered with great drops 
of sweat, such had been his haste. Suddenly he 
felt a touch ; his limbs failed, his lips grew parched, 
his tongue thickened, and, unable to speak, he 
uttered a stified groan. Some woodcutters carried 
him home, and said to Engelarde : ^ Poor woman, 
a spirit touched him ; it is all over with Baldo.’ 
The unhappy man died that night. But I fell 
there a hundred times in my youth ; the shock of 


366 


The Baths of Albano. 


spirits could have no power over me, for I had been 
blessed by the chains of Saint Peter. When these 
souls are thirsty, they go into the huts and drink 
the water placed therein, emptying the troughs 
for the cattle, and even the cisterns. They enter 
the granaries, mix the beans with the wheat, the 
barley with the lentils, and the peas with the other 
grains. If the housewife is busy making bread, 
they prevent the dough from rising. And God 
preserve us if they cast their eyes on the children ! 
They are at once seen to pine away and drop like 
grass in the meadow ; their eyes roll upward, and 
they die in convulsions, or are covered with sores, 
which make them a pitiable sight. Some among 
them are malicious spirits, who amuse themselves 
by playing a thousand pranks. They lay pitfalls, 
pull away ladders, and throw down people. If 
one is in haste to return home, they stuff the key¬ 
hole ; the key will not fit the lock, and one is oblig¬ 
ed to call a locksmith to unfasten the door. They 
frighten horses, make mules tricky and so obsti¬ 
nate that they remain at the stable-door. In sum¬ 
mer they turn themselves into flies or insects to tor¬ 
ment us. Under the form of horse-flies they sting 
horses and drive bulls and heifers to fury. Often, 
too, changed into moles, they destroy the crops; into 
rats, they gnaw the nuts; as moths, they consume 
woollen cloth; as worms, they make holes in the 
tables; as insects, they destroy the fruits. In a 
word, they cause all the mischief they can, and 
no spell, no exorcism, no words, have any effect 
on them. Happily, the time is not far distant 


The Baths of Albano. 367 

when these perverse souls must quit this coun¬ 
try!’" 

‘^How dost thou make that out? I see no 
remedy.” 

Pardon me, there is one, and this shall be soon 
applied by the baron of this domain, a man of 
great wealth and eminent piety—the Lord Mau- 
travers, of the Counts of Montebello. He formed 
the design of founding, at the foot of that moun¬ 
tain, a temple dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, and 
a monastery of the Order of Saint Benedict. He 
has already brought thither, from the celebrated 
Convent of Pollirone, Father Iselbert to make the 
preparations. If thou shouldst desire to see him 
this afternoon, he is to pass by here on his way 
to the neighborhood of Mount Arco, the destined 
site for the foundation of the abbey.” 

Yoland learned this news with great joy. She 
hoped that Iselbert would give her advice and 
directions for her pilgrimage ; therefore she awaited 
him with impatience. The women were already 
beginning to return from the fields to light the fire 
and prepare the repast for the harvesters, who also 
came in, with their scythes on their shoulders. 

It was nearly four o’clock. The family included 
three old men, the sons of Hilda, their seven 
sons, men of more than forty years of age, 
and each with his fine, strong boys, of whom 
several were already fathers of families, with 
wives, daughters, and children, making alto¬ 
gether thirty-seven people. As they entered, 
they put away their scythes, then bowed to their 


The Baths of Albano. 


368 

grandmother and wished her good-day with a 
truly filial affection. They were soon seated at 
table, the men on one side, the women on the other. 
In the place of honor Gilda was seated, and, as 
queen of the table, was served the first. The chil¬ 
dren occupied small separate tables. Two women 
brought the dishes intended for the grown persons, 
whilst two others served the children. In this 
numerous gathering reigned a touching order and 
agreement. The women lived together in excel¬ 
lent harmony, occupying themselves each in 
turn in the housekeeping. All of them were obe¬ 
dient to her who had charge of the week, assisted 
her, and noiselessly performed their task. 

The young girls led the cows to the pasture, aided 
the hay-makers and reapers, gathered in the vintage, 
carried the baskets of grapes to the presses, and 
gathered the hay destined to feed the cattle during 
the winter. The smaller ones cared for the goats 
and sheep gi’azing in the plains or on the hills. 
The women busied themselves with the hemp and 
flax ; they spun, and drew, and threaded linen dur¬ 
ing the winter evenings; others took care of the 
geese, hens, ducks, and of the eggs. All of them, 
in a word, lent a hand with the washing, with the 
housekeeping, prepared the lard to prevent it from 
becoming rancid, smoked the hams, made sausages 
and puddings, kneaded and baked the bread. This 
family was like a little state, where each one jeal¬ 
ously preserved the old customs and traditions. 

Yoland, on account of being a pilgrim, was 
placed at table between the two oldest members of 


The Baths of Albano. 369 

the family, and was served after Gilda. The 
choicest bits were always offered her. At that 
period, a single glass was placed on the table, 
which was passed round from hand to hand. Yo- 
land received it first: she drank to the health of 
her hosts, and passed it to her neighbor. At the 
end of dinner, the oldest, who had given thanks 
aloud, arose and said grace, to which all present 
answered amen, making the sign of the cross. 

In the twinkling of an eye the children disap¬ 
peared. Justine offered her arm to her grand¬ 
mother, and led her to the arbor of foliage, which 
shaded the entrance to the garden, whilst two other 
young girls gathered up the remnants of the meal. 
They carried them to some poor persons who were 
waiting under the shade of an enormous tree whose 
tufted foliage overhung the door of the stable. Sud¬ 
denly the curly-haired Nalda, one of the alms- 
givers, ran back to the house, rushing in like a 
w^hirlwind, dipped her fingers in a font, joined 
her hands, and, sprinkling lier face with the holy 
water, threw it around the threshold of the door. 

‘^What are thou doing, Nalda said Justine; 

wherefore the holy water ? What is the mat¬ 
ter 

Nalda placed her finger on her lips : 

Hush ! ’’ said she, Baugulfa is with the poor. 
. . . Thou knowest she is a witch. ... I came 
for a loaf of white bread, one of those marked with 
a cross, and I am going to bring it to her, that she 
may depart contented, otherwise she might do 
much evil to the children, or to our cousins.” 


370 


The Baths of Albano. 


■With these words, she went to the cupboard, 
took a loaf, and brought it to the supposed witch, 
Nalda offered it to her with a smiling face. 

^"Here, good Baugulfa,” said she, ^Hake this 
white loaf for the love of us.” 

The poor woman looked joyfully at the young 
girl, and, kissing the cross marked on the bread, 
she said: 

Go with my blessing, fortunate child ! God 
will reward thy charity. Charms and spells shall 
never cross the threshold of thy home.” 

Nalda came running to Justine, and related to 
her, smiling, the old woman’s prediction. 

The white bread,” said she, '‘will shelter the 
children from all spells. If Diomara and Gandolfa, 
our neighbors, had done likewise, they would not 
have had to mourn their son. In place of receiv¬ 
ing Baugulfa kindly and regaling her with white 
bread, one let loose a great house-dog against her, 
the other refused her a little meal. It fared ill 
with them, for the witch turned towards the house, 
bit her fingers, clenched her fists, and muttered be¬ 
tween her teeth some unintelligible curses. Two 
days after, Diomara’s young son, a real fiower, with 
his cheeks like roses and milk, as plump as butter, 
was seized with shivering and trembling in all his 
limbs. He lost his appetite and became poorly ; 
his thin pale lips, his ashy color, and his hollow 
eyes, with circles round them as black as ink, an¬ 
nounced his speedy death. As to the child of poor 
Gandolfa, he swelled like a leather sack, and be¬ 
came flabby and yellow ; his cheeks grew soft and 


The Baths of Albano. 371 

puffy ; his gums became inflamed, liis eyes languid 
and glassy. The poor mother called in Eriberte, 
that old woman who knows the secrets of all the 
plants, the virtues of minerals, the mysteries of 
antidotes. By just looking at a child, she can tell 
thee : he has worms, he has epilepsy, or he is 
badly fed. N'ow, Eriberte, on seeing Gandolfa’s 
little one, said, immediately; Charms are re¬ 
quired here instead of the usual remedies.’’ She 
dipped her fingers in the oil of St. Justine, made 
the sign of the cross in the pit of the child’s 
stomach, and sprinkled its face with holy water. 
The most marvellous thing, dear cousin—the little 
creature at once began to wriggle like a snake, to 
foam at the mouth, and to utter a sort of horrible 
moaning. The neck of the child swelled, so that 
they feared for its life, but at length it opened its 
mouth, and there came forth dead rats, lizards, 
toads, balls of wool, forks, and pins. . . . Alas ! 
into what a fearful condition these horrible witches 
can put a child ! God guard us from the devil. 
. . . But it is our interest to treat Bangulfa well.” 

Whilst Nalda was relating these strange events. 
Father Iselbert came to the hut with an architect 
and workmen. They were on their way, as we have 
said, to visit Mount Arco, choosing the most de¬ 
sirable spot, the easiest ascent, with the coolest air, 
the most solid earth, and least likely to become un¬ 
dermined. When they had well examined the 
country and sounded several eminences to discover 
the nature of the substrata, they unanimously de¬ 
cided on the spot at present occupied by the cele- 


372 


The Baths of Alhano, 


brated monastery of Praglio, which, in the bar¬ 
barous Latin of the times, was called Our Lady of 
Pratalea, undoubtedly because of the vast meadows 
by which it is surrounded. 

Whilst the workmen were sounding the earth 
here and there, Father Iselhert left them to chat a 
little with Gilda, whom he found seated in the 
shady arbor. 

What tidings, good mother ? I wish thee good- 
day. . . . Didst thou dine with a good appetite ? ’’ 

’Never better,” replied Gilda; the stomach 
always works well, and if it make me not stout, it 
at least keeps me alive. It is not so with Justine, 
and all the children of the house, who are so fresh 
and hearty it is a pleasure to see them. The least 
morsel of bread improves them. Bless them. Father, 
that they may grow in wisdom and grace. . . 

And that they also may live a hundred years— 
is it not so ? ” interrupted the monk. 

Yes, yes, God be praised,” replied Gilda, 
have reached my hundred and fourth year, and dur¬ 
ing the little time I have to live, I love to breathe 
the fresh air. I bethink me. Father, we received 
here this morning a pilgrim on his way to Eome. 
He is so young, so delicate, and of such gentle man¬ 
ners, one would call him a little saint. Wouldst 
thou receive him into thy company, and conduct 
him to Pollirone, whither he can continue his way.” 

Most willingly, good dame. Brother Bernard 
must indeed remain here to superintend the work. 
His horse will serve for thy pilgrim. . , But where 
is he? Call him.” 


373 


The Baths of Albano, 

Justine went for Ydland. Her gracious and no¬ 
ble manner convinced Father Iselbert that he was a 
young man of good family. He said: 

My young friend, what is thy name ? ” 

Lando,” replied the young girl. 

“ Well, wouldst thou come with me as far as the 
Convent of Pollirone ? ” 

Thankfully, Father,” replied Yoland, bowing; 

thou art doing me a great service.” 

shall be happy in so doing,” said Iselbert. 

Hold thyself in readiness to-morrow morning, at 
the door of the house, and I shall take thee with 
me as I pass, just at dawn.” 

They accordingly set out the following day. The 
monk, making Yoland ride beside him, questioned 
her as they rode along. Iselbert learned that she 
came from Moravia, and that she had traversed a 
great part of the German empire. He asked her 
for news of it. 

Yoland replied with judgment and discretion, 
deploring the calamities and distress which the 
cruel wars of Henry against the Saxons and Thu- 
ringians had brought upon the country. 

‘^Poor Germany I” said Iselbert, ^^thou dost in¬ 
spire me with the liveliest compassion. Thou art 
the most noble, the most loyal, the most valiant of 
the Northern nations. Otho the Great, Eric the 
Saintly, and Henry the Black have raised thee to 
the apogee of power and glory. To-day, alas ! their 
son oppresses and tramples thee under foot! Still, 
he seeks to force thy faith, of which no people is 
more jealous than thine. • . . He is not ashamed to 


374 The Baths of Albano. 

make the most abominable traffic of the Church, 
basely selling episcopal sees, the dignities of abbots, 
priors, canons, the goyernment of hospitals, in a 
word, everything that is holy on earth. 0 my 
child! notwithstanding such a crying abuse of holy 
things, think not that all ecclesiastics are thus cove¬ 
tous and avaricious. Forget not the weakness of 
man; when a violent temptation excites the evil 
desires of his corrupt nature, it is easy for him to 
sin. The world profits by thig to cry out against 
the avarice and cupidity of the clergy, but it alone 
is truly covetous, is graspingly avaricious. In fact, 
it arrogates to itself a right which belongs not to it, 
which it cannot have but by violence and the abuse 
of its strength—that of stealing the goods of the 
Church and selling them to the first bidder. Thou 
knowest, the Church dispenses the grace of the 
Holy Ghost by her divine prerogatives, and she de¬ 
sires no payment for it. On the contrary, she con¬ 
demns and anathematizes all priests who dare to re¬ 
ceive such, and repeats what Simon Peter said to 
Simon Magus, who, seeing the Apostles giving the 
Holy Ghost by the imposition of hands, offered 
them money, saying: ‘Give me also this power.’ 
‘ But,’ Peter answered with indignation, ‘ may thy 
money perish with thee ; because thou hast es¬ 
teemed the gift of God to be purchased with 
money.’* Now, the covetousness of some princes 
causes them, under pretext of fiefs, to assume the 
right of giving investitures of abbeys and bishop- 


♦ Acts, chap. viii. 


The Baths of Albano. 


375 


rics, and that for money. As soon as this door was 
opened to ambition, to pride, to the yilest passions, 
they crouched on the threshold of the sanctuary to 
seize upon the holiest and most august dignities. 
The princes have thus opened a broad and new way 
of enriching the public treasury with the blood of 
Jesus Christ, and Simon the Magician, excommu¬ 
nicated by Saint Peter, is received and feasted by 
Henry. He who has the most marks of gold or sil¬ 
ver to offer him ascends with a confident step into 
the episcopal chair ; he immediately possesses hea¬ 
venly science, piety, zeal, temperance, meekness, in 
a word, the whole train of virtues which should ren¬ 
der the bishop the guide and guardian of the fold 
of God. Alas I all these bishops, these grasping 
abbots, are ravenous wolves, and not pastors—mas¬ 
ters of iniquity, and not of justice—intruders, and 
not Aarons chosen by God—antichrists, and not the 
anointed of the Lord. Pope Alexander II. com¬ 
bated this horrible monster to the day of his death, 
and Gregory VII. will have no rest till he has cut 
off its head and purified the Church from its poi¬ 
soned breath. But Henry sustains this abominable 
hydra ; he laughs at the anathemas of the Pontiff, 
and fills at once with maledictions and with gold 
coins his coffers, always empty, because of the cruel 
and unjust wars which he makes on his subjects, 
Gilbert, the standard-bearer of simony, promises 
Henry endless wonders if he raises him to the pon¬ 
tificate. Thou knowest the odious attempt on the 
life of the Holy Father on Christmas night. Gilbert 
wished to buy the See of St. Peter, at the price of 


The Baths of Albano. 


376 

sacks of gold, which soon would disappear in tne 
bottomless coffers of the insatiable Henry. Is it 
very astonishing that Germany and Italy are in tur¬ 
moil, and the schismatic clergy and princes every¬ 
where fan the disturbance ? But the great heart of 
Gregory overrules the storm. An unshaken rock, 
he resists the fury of the ocean, and sees without a 
quiver the foaming waves breaking at his feet and 
rebounding with tremendous force. For a thousand 
years the seas have roared around theEock of Peter, 
and the more they lash its sides, the more it shines. 
Against this rock a hundred tyrants have broken 
their kingly pride, and whoever attempts to dash 
against it shall be shattered. If the unfortunate 
Henry persists in attacking this sharp stone, he will 
speedily break his head. This is my opinion, con¬ 
firmed by all history. Nevertheless, I am filled with 
sorrow at sight of the oppression of the people, of 
the persecution which is endured by the orthodox 
bishops, faithful abbots, and generous princes, who 
remain devoted to the Holy Father Gregory. On 
one they impose heavy taxes ; they torture others ; 
here, some are degraded, removed from their sees ; 
there, they are banished from the empire without 
refuge or asylum ; if some monastery receives them, 
if some prince gives them an asylum, the King 
spares neither threats nor annoyance nor violence 
to punish them for this act of charity.” 

Father Iselbert glanced at his companion. Just 
then, a great tear fell from under Yoland’s 
hood.. 

The monk ceased speaking, checked his steed. 


The Baths of Albano. 377 

and, seeing that the rest of the company were far 
behind, he said, in a low Yoice : 

Good youth, thou weepest; hast thou to mourn 
a parent who is cruelly persecuted for his fidelity 
to the Pope ? Tell me, in all confidence, for I and 
our whole monastery of Pollirone acknowledge for 
lady and mistress the great Italian Countess, the 
pious and invincible Mathilda, whose ancestors 
founded and endowed this abbey. She also pror 
tects us, and honors us beyond all that can be 
imagined. This heroic woman is the defence of 
Italy, the consolation of the good, the bulwark of 
the Holy and Apostolic See. Pope Gregory calls 
her the eldest daughter of the Church, the power¬ 
ful arm ever ready to defend it, the impenetrable 
shield against which the darts of the enemy are im¬ 
potent. Mathilda alone knew how to resist with su¬ 
blime courage the flattery, temptation, and open 
violence of so many princes, who make war on her 
because of her unswerving devotion to the lawful 
successor of Saint Peter. Protected as we are by 
Mathilda, we can openly show ourselves the devoted 
sons of Gregory. Tell me, therefore, if thou hast 
any grief ; speak with confidence, either to relieve 
thy heart, or that thou mayest obtain the advice 
and aid of the Countess, who will shortly visit the 
monastery. For this reason our reverend abbot re¬ 
commended me to return as soon as possible to the 
abbey, to be present on her arrival.’’ 

Yoland heard with great Joy that she should soon 
be in presence of the illustrious lady who was fill¬ 
ing the world with her renown and was the hope of 


The Baths of Aldano. 


378 

all just people. The Abbot Daufer and the Ab¬ 
bess Theotberg’a always spoke of her with the great¬ 
est veneration. They called her the preserver of 
the West, having so energetically defended, against 
the Anti-Pope Cadolatis, the saintly Alexander II., 
as she was now defending as lawful the election of 
Gregory YII. and his sublime virtues. The young 
girl expressed her gratitude to Father Iselbert for 
his sympathy. Still continuing to pass for a man, 
she added that she wept every day for the long and 
painful exile in which her father was pining, the 
victim of his constant devotion to the cause of 
Alexander and that of Gregory. 

^‘It is indeed to implore the divine mercy in 
favor of my father,’’ said she, that I am going on 
a pilgrimage to Rome.” 

Three days later they crossed the Po in a boat, 
and soon arrived at the monastery, where Father 
Iselbert presented the young pilgrim to the vene¬ 
rable abbot, adding that he was a virtuous young 
man worthy of his solicitude. The abbot confided 
Yoland to the Father-host, who led her to the 
guest-quarter. Two days after the arrival of Yo- 
iand, a little before sundown, a knight rode up to 
the door of the monastery, announcing that Ma¬ 
thilda was half a league from Pollirone. Then the 
abbot, accompanied by the oldest monks, went 
down in their habit and crossed the lowered draw¬ 
bridge of the moat which lay within the enclosure. 
All the religious followed him, and ranged them¬ 
selves to meet Mathilda at the foot of a stone cross 
which stood in the middle of a vast field. The re- 


379 


The Baths of Albano. 

tinue of the noble lady was preceded by one hun¬ 
dred knights, with helmets on their heads, and lances 
at their wrists. At some distance behind them 
came two trumpeters, followed by four axe-bearers. 
The Countess soon appeared, mounted on a superb 
white steed. She wore a large and long blue cloak, 
brocaded in flowers of gold; a hood of blue silk cov¬ 
ered her head; her deerskin gloves, with deep 
cuffs, were fastened by buttons of filagree adorned 
with emeralds; on her feet she wore slippers of 
figured red morocco, ornamented with golden 
spurs and little diamonds. 

Behind the Countess came, on her right hand, 
the holy Bishop Anselm; on her left, the grand 
seneschal, followed by the grand falconer, the 
master of the camp, esquires, pages-at-arms, and 
servants of high lineage. The march was closed by 
a battalion of knights, armed with swords, and cov¬ 
ered with a very fine coat-of-mail with flowing 
sleeves. The abbot offered them holy water, and 
they all crossed themselves. Mathilda alighted in 
the second enclosure, and was led to the church, 
where she assisted at the singing of Compline, 
then, according to her custom, arose at midnight 
for Matins. 

On the following day, after Tierce, when they 
had heard the community Mass, the abbot and Fa¬ 
ther Iselbert presented the young pilgrim to her, 
then retired, leaving them alone. 

Mathilda was possessed of great beauty. Her 
face, extremely gracious, was full of a sweet and 
noble dignity, and her smile was of rare gentleness. 


380 The Baths of Albano, 

When she spoke fco any one, the softness of her 
voice and the serenity of her glance never failed to 
inspire in her hearers an affectionate confidence. 
Yoland approached her. Mathilda regarded her 
with a piercing and scrutinizing glance, asking her 
a number of questions, to which the young girl an¬ 
swered with a judgment and reason which imme¬ 
diately gained for her the tenderness and sympathy 
of the Countess. Suddenly she interrupted the 
young pilgrim: 

‘‘Wherefore, my child,” said she, “dost thou 
wear that hood drawn over thy face ? I pray thee 
to cast it aside, as it is meet thou shouldst do before 
thy superior.” 

The timid child cast down her eyes, grew as red 
as a burning coal, and trembled with fear in every 
limb. She made a movement to lay aside her hood. 
Just then, her long beautiful hair, fastened at the 
top of her head, fell down over her shoulders. Ma¬ 
thilda smiled kindly, took her hand, and said :« 

“ I already suspected that thou wert a young 
girl. Take courage, my child; God has led thee 
by his grace into a safe harbor. . . . Tell me now 
freely and frankly who thou art; thy speech has 
already shown me that thou hast been brought up 
in fidelity and respect towards the Vicar of Jesus 
Christ. . . . Thy face and manner convince me 
that thou art of noble origin.” 

Yoland briefly related her misfortunes to the Coun¬ 
tess. She told her who her father was, and why, 
when she could not rejoin him in Bohemia, she 
had undertaken this long journey. She prayed her 


The Baths of Albano. 381 

to keep her rank secret, for she feared King Henry 
and the enemies of her father. 

‘‘What!” cried Mathilda, “thou art the daugh¬ 
ter of Count Pandolpli of G-roningen, whom I 
knew in my early youth at the court of my mothei 
Beatrice! He was the noblest, most loyal knight 
at the court of the Emperor Henry III., who sent 
him more than once on a secret mission. My mo¬ 
ther held him in high esteem, because of his valor 
and virtues, and I am but too happy in welcoming 
to my arms the daughter of that magnanimous 
hero, so long persecuted for the Church of God. 
Doubt not my discretion ; thou shalt be as a sister 
to me, and, if thou wilt, a daughter and beloved 
friend.” 

Mathilda threw her arms around her neck, pressed 
her affectionately to her heart, and embraced her 
warmly. Yoland wept on her breast, promising 
her a daughter’s love and devotion. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

HENRY IV. 

The little island of Saint Switbert, now Kaisers- 
wertb, is situated in tbe middle of the Rhine, in a 
spot where the river, becoming wider, forms for it 
a crown of its limpid waves, in which are mirrored 
the willows, aspens, and poplars on its banks. In 
the year 1062 , this island was an imperial residence. 
In the centre of it stood a large and sumptuous 
palace, whose richly-furnished halls opened on the 
two banks of the river and on the neighboring hills, 
whose declivities, covered with vines, meadows, and 
rich harvests, formed a magnificent carpet of ver¬ 
dure. On each of these eminences was built a 
castle, the noble dwelling of barons, whose taper¬ 
ing towers and turreted and crenelated walls stood 
out agaist the azure of heaven. The palace on the 
island was also surrounded by gardens, groves, 
and game-parks, and around each of the four gates 
of the edifice stood a double row of ancient trees, 
whose foliage formed a thick and verdant arch. 

At the time of which we speak, this magnificent 
rural dwelling was occupied by a royal child and its 
mother. One day a beautiful little boat, all en¬ 
twined with flowers, came down the river and ap- 
382 




Henry IV, 


383 


proaclied tlie island. It very soon landed in a 
cove, cast anchor as it neared the shore, to which 
they lowered a bridge covered with rich Persian 
carpets. On the stern of the vessel was an elegant 
tower, in which were little rooms richly hung with 
velvet, brocade, and blue, yellow, or red satin, from 
which hung silken cords with golden acorns. 
Fringes and embroidery of marvellous workman¬ 
ship still more heightened the effect of the rich 
tapestry; the furniture of this apartment was a 
masterpiece of taste and magnificence; the orna¬ 
ments were of carved bronze, gilded or enamelled \ 
the ceilings, inlaid with ebony, coral, or ivory, were 
decorated with heavy carvings, in which roses and 
other fiowers were skilfully intertwined. On the 
windows were small canopies to shield the apart¬ 
ments from the heat of the sun. Slender pillars, in 
bright colors, supported them. On the balconies 
and on the windows were placed vases of carved 
silver, filled with foreign and indigenous flowers, 
giving forth the sweetest fragrance. Here and 
there, within the gilded bars of their elegant prison, 
sported birds of variegated plumage, who mingled 
their voices with the sweet harmony of a chorus of 
lutes, harps, guitars, and flutes, placed at the prow of 
the vessel. The oarsmen and sailors wore a uniform 
of apple-green and scarlet. They wore plumed 
hats, and floating scarfs tied round their waists. 
From the summit of the tower waved the archiepis- 
copal banner of Hanno of Cologne, who was sailing 
down, accompanied by several German princes, the 
peaceful waters of the river. 


3^4 


Henry IV. 


The young lord of the island was just then walk¬ 
ing in the garden. At sight of this charming little 
vessel entering the porch, he approached the hank. 
He was at once courteously invited to visit the 
boat. He joyously crossed the bridge, covered 
with costly carpet, and advanced towards the rich 
apartments in the tower, where the princes and 
the archbishop waited to offer him their homage. 
But scarcely was he on board when the bridge was 
raised, the sails floated to the breeze, and the vessel, 
leaving the flowery cove, ploughed with its 
sharp prow the azure waves of the Rhine. The 
child, at first delighted, then surprised, to see the 
light craft afloat, soon began to suspect treason. 
He trembled with rage. 

Nothing restrained him; he rushed towards the 
tower, reached, in two bounds, the edge of the 
vessel, and plunged into the middle of the river, 
swimming bravely towards the bank. But his 
clothing prevented him from struggling against 
the current, and he would have disappeared be¬ 
neath the water had not the Count Egbert thrown 
himself into the river to save him. He seized him 
by the hair, and, aided by the boatmen, brought 
him aboard. At sight of this audacious attempt, 
and especially when they discovered the despairing 
act of the young king, there arose from the bank, 
covered with people, a cry, a shudder, and terrible 
imprecations. The poor mother, who had come 
thither attracted by the noise, seeing the craft skim¬ 
ming over the water, uttered heartrending cries, tore 
her hair, and with fixed and haggard eyes, from 


Henry IV. 


385 


which tears were streaming, called upon her only 
son, who, from the deck of the boat, stretched his 
arms towards her claiming her protection. 

This unhappy mother was the Empress Agnes ; 
the child. King Henry IV,, scarcely twelve years of 
age. When dying, the Emperor Henry III. had 
confided the guardianship of the young Henry 
to Pope Victor II. and to his mother Agnes. This 
princess governed the state with much wisdom, es¬ 
tablishing peace and justice everywhere. She edu¬ 
cated her son in a manner befitting a young prince 
who was one day to take the reins of so vast an 
empire. But Pope Victor being dead, the Empress, 
who desired to obtain the light and counsel of 
men renowned for their wisdom, chose, in prefer¬ 
ence to all other lords. Bishop Eric of Augsburg, a 
prelate of a gentle disposition, an amiable manner, 
and elevated mind. He shone no less by his genius 
than by his eminent virtues. 

Envy, that fatal plague of courts, could not 
look contentedly on so much authority being concen¬ 
trated in the hands of a single man. Several 
princes coveted a share. More daring than the 
others, Egbert, a cousin of the king, and Otho 
of Bavaria, leagued with Sigefroid, Archbishop of 
Mayence, and Adelbert of Bremen. They sought 
out the holy and austere Archbishop of Cologne, 
Hanno, whom they persuaded to remove the young 
Henry from the maternal influence, under the vain 
pretext of giving to Germany a king with an ele¬ 
vated mind and noble heart. ^^A woman,” said 
they to him, ^^is not capable of forming him.” 


386 Henry IV. 

They then organized the attempt of which we have 
given an account. 

This removal was the cause of all the errors of 
Henry. He had received from Heaven a firm and 
generous character, but he retained of it only the 
pride and irascibility. The fine side of his nature 
was replaced by the malignant cunning of the ser¬ 
pent, the cold cruelty of the hyena, and the fierce¬ 
ness of the leopard. Alas ! it could not be otherwise. 
The companions given him by the princes of the em¬ 
pire were cruel and ambitious men. The better to 
ruin the state by their plunder, to enrich themselves 
by the venality in the most important offices of the 
Church, instead of forming the young prince to vir¬ 
tue, they profited by his impetuous and fickle 
inclinations, and were careful not to correct his 
faults. The holy Archbishop Hanno sought indeed 
to reprove and chastise him ; his flatterers over¬ 
whelmed the venerable prelate with epigrams 
and satire, inducing his pupil, who was but too 
much inclined thereto, to disregard the advice of 
that severe censor, that old dotard. They did their 
part so well that the young prince soon lost all 
esteem or affection for his venerable preceptor; after 
a time, he would no longer receive him. At length, 
delivered from that importunate mentor, Henry 
allowed himself to be carried away by the excess of 
every whim, always obeying the impetuosity of his 
age and his unrestrained passions. His infamous 
courtiers neglected nothing that might extinguish in 
his heart every sentiment of justice and goodness. 
They crushed his generous instincts and harden- 


Henry IV, 


387 

ed his heart by the cruel sport of the chase. 
They placed him in contact with iniquitous, 
worthless, and heartless men, and accustomed 
him to despise holy things. They represented to 
him, in the most odious colors, men conse¬ 
crated to God, and all those who had a 
reputation for wisdom and virtue. There was 
nothing to resist the w^hims, desires, and fancies of 
the young sovereign. One day, the venerable 
Hanno, finding himself obliged to reprove him 
and reproach him with his transgressions, the vio¬ 
lent boy fiew into such a transport of rage, 
that he threw himself, with drawn sword, upon 
the holy old man. He would have killed him 
had not those present restrained his sacrilegious 
arm. 

Still, with these unhappy inclinations were 
united in Henry some natural qualities which 
might have rendered him the delight of Germany. 
In person he was well made, and, when he appear¬ 
ed in public, clad in armor, with his crested helmet, 
visor raised, his noble and amiable countenance 
commanded respect. But in his riper years his 
vices disfigured him completely. His eye became 
fierce and cruel, his features hard, his skin swarthy, 
his face gloomy and distorted by the vilest passions. 
To beguile him from the affairs of state, the cour¬ 
tiers were the first to offer him food for his vices. 
His soldiers soon imitated him, and, if he tempora¬ 
rily fixed his residence in a town or village, these 
places were treated by his officers and soldiers like 
a conquered country. The citizens and country 


388 


Henry IV. 


people became the victims of exactions, outrages, 
and plunder of every kind. 

The great barons, seeing the Emperor giving 
h-imself up to scandalous excesses, hoped that mar¬ 
riage would arrest him on this fatal descent. They 
decided, after a long illness, that he should mariy 
Bertha, to whom he had been betrothed by hia 
father. She was a princess of elevated mind and 
of rare beauty, who it would seem should have 
made the happiness of the king and the splendor 
of the throne. 

Henry indeed married her, but this virtuous 
princess soon became odious to him. Just inas¬ 
much as the Queen deserved his affection, he heap¬ 
ed insults on her. He wished to be separated from 
her at any price, but as he had no apparent motive 
for a divorce, he attempted to originate that of 
treason. This cowardly conduct did not succeed, and 
seeing that craft availed him nothing, lie sought to 
openly repudiate Queen Bertha. Together with 
the princes of the empire, the archbishops and 
prelates energetically opposed this iniquity. Rome 
was alarmed at this unheard-of scandal in Chris¬ 
tendom, as an infamous stain on the imperial ma¬ 
jesty, as a bloody outrage to the whole German 
nation. Henry persisted in his hatred, and the 
Queen, hoping to recall him to milder sentiments, 
voluntarily descended from the throne and retired 
to the imperial Abbey of Loreschim, to the great 
grief of the Empress Agnes, who mourned over 
the excesses of her son. Meanwhile, the Saxons, 
Thuringians, and Suabians were angry at seeing 


Henry IV, 


389 

their beautiful and unfortunate Queen so treated. 
The misconduct of Henry gave rise to serious re¬ 
volts on the part of these people, tyrannized over in 
so many ways, and reduced to despair. 

This depravity, so odious to those people, still 
rude, but jealous of their honor, was accompanied 
by perfidy and treason. Animated by a secret ha¬ 
tred against the Saxons and Tliuringians, Henry had 
built in the centre of these strong and vast provin¬ 
ces, under the futile pretext of fortifying himself 
against the invasion of the Poles and Lithuanians, 
imj)regnable castles, on which he forced to work the 
very people whose extermination he meditated. He 
erected on the summits of mountains, at the en¬ 
trance of valleys, and on inaccessible rocks, the forts 
of Wiganstentein, Moseburg, and Sassestein, in the 
province of Rohenstein; in Thuringia, Hasen- 
burg, Hohemburg, and Volkenroth, on the lands of 
the Palatine Frederic. Immediately he placed 
therein cruel and rapacious garrisons, who swooped 
clovvii on the i^lain like vultures, pillaging the 
farms and devastating the countr}^, which was kept 
in continual alarm. 

The people were indignant at the contempt with 
which Henry affected to receive Cardinal Peter 
Damian, legate a latere of the Holy See, who, at 
the Diet of Frankfort, declared to him, in the name 
of G-od and of the Church, that he must not annul 
the marriage which he had solemnly contracted 
with Queen Bertha. All the princes of the empire 
sided with the sentence of the Pope, and, in spite 
of his repugnance, Henry was obliged to submit to 


390 


Henry IV, 


it. He recalled his wife, but this restraint so 
weighed upon him that on the arrival of the Queen 
he immediately departed for Saxony. A tender and 
faithful wife, Bertha followed him, imploring him 
to grant her a look of kindness and a word of af¬ 
fection. Henry at last yielded, to free himself from 
the importunities of the princes, who besought him 
to have pity on his unhappy wife. Still, he receiv¬ 
ed her with a countenance so hard, with eyes so 
fierce, and a mien so cold, that the aversion with 
which she inspired him was but too evident. 

On their part, the Saxons, enraged at the new 
insults of the King, abruptly left him, seeing the 
little regard which he paid to their princes and 
barons. In fact, he openly mocked and derided 
them in court and in the Diets. The revolt was 
terrible; the King, seeing his army beaten, pro¬ 
mised them pardon. But when they had laid 
down their arms and had loyally sworn faith to 
treaties, the King attacked them unexpectedly and 
with such atrocious cruelty that one shudders in 
reading an account of that massacre in the histories 
of Lambert, Bruno, Arentine, and even of Usperg, 
although himself a relative and partisan of that 
odious tyrant. 

The cruelty which he practised towards his sub¬ 
jects was nothing beside the cbwardly dissimulation 
to which he stooped when he was overcome and the 
princes held him in their power. He humbled 
himself and asked their pardon, ascribing his ex¬ 
cesses to the inexperience of youth, the levity of his 
mind, and the evil counsels of his courtiers. And 


391 


Henry IV. 

fhese noble and generous princes, not content with 
forgiving him, rendered him the honors due to a 
sovereign, and offered him the homage of their faith. 
He loudly testified his gratitude, and, at the same 
time, he secretly raised new armies; then, when 
the pro\finces were unsuspectingly resting in peace 
and security, he pounced down upon them, be¬ 
sieged the towns, pillaged the country, and spread 
fire and blood on his way. 

He made a treaty of peace with. Thuringia. 
Whilst the loyal knights were confiding on the 
King’s w^ord, Henry suddenly laid siege to the forts 
of Beichlingen and Scherdingen, which he took 
without a blow. He marched on the other for¬ 
tresses, which he laid in ruins. This disloyalty put 
a climax to the general indignation. The Saxons 
and Thuringians, in turn victor and vanquished, 
defeated the King and cut down the flower of his 
legions. Therefore, when, after the victory of 
Hohenburg, Henry marched upon Saxony at the 
head of a numerous army, he found himself imme¬ 
diately surrounded by all men of an age to carry 
arms. The whole country arose in a body to march 
to the contest and dispute with him the passage of 
the Elbe. Before these formidable troops Henry 
trembled, and foreseeing that he would undoubt¬ 
edly be crushed if he tried the fortunes of the two 
armies, he resolved to conceal his weakness. He 
therefore sent to the enemy’s camp ambassadors 
furnished with full powers ; they were the Arch¬ 
bishops of Salzburg and Mayence, the Bishops 
of Augsburg and Wurzburg, with Gothelo of 


392 


Hettry IV. 


Lorraine, a prince gifted with rare eloquence and 
much esteemed throughout Germany. They were 
received with great honor, and, after long discussion, 
peace was concluded. Then the ambassadors de¬ 
manded that the Saxon princes should present 
themselves before the Eung, and, bending the 
knee before him, declare themselves his faithful 
vassals. At this proposition a murmur of indigna¬ 
tion went through the whole camp. ‘‘Henry,” 
they cried, “demands that we disarm ourselves 
before him, only to cast us into the depths of his 
dungeons and ill-treat us at his will.” The ambas¬ 
sadors, fortified by the sacred word of the Bang, who 
had told them to come to terms with the rebels at 
all hazards, raised their hand, and the bishops 
swore on the cross, Duke Gothelo by God and 
his sword, that the Emperor, after having received 
their homage, from which as his vassals he could not 
dispense them, would leave them their fiefs and their 
dignities with peace and liberty for all. 

Then the princes, moved by the long misfor¬ 
tunes of their country, considering the fate which 
threatened such numbers of old men, women, and 
children, and considering how much blood and how 
many tears even victory would cost, stifled 
with magnanimous self-denial the voice of pride, 
and sacrificed all to peace. They therefore said to 
the bishops and the Duke that they were ready to 
offer their submission to Henry. The King had a 
throne erected in his tent, and, surrounded by the 
princes and his courtiers, he received the Saxons in 
presence of the whole army. The most illustrious 


393 


Henry IV, 

representatives were Wezel, Archbishop of Magde¬ 
burg; Buch, Bishop of Alberstadt; Otho of Nord- 
heim ; Magnus, Duke of Saxony ; Count Hermann ; 
the Palatine Frederic ; Adalbert, Landgrave of 
Thuringia; Counts Reudiger, Siltz, Bern, and Ber- 
enger. Followed by a large number of lords and 
nobles, they bent their knee before the King, and 
acknowledged him as their liege-lord. 

As soon as Henry saw the lords at his mercy he 
forgot his oath, loaded them with chains, and cast 
them into gloomy cells, confiding the guard of 
them to their bitterest enemies. He confiscated 
their goods, and triumphantly overran Saxony, 
wreaking his fury upon the towns, and spreading 
terror, fire, and death upon his path. 

By so audaciously violating the faith of his 
treaties, Henry had incurred the hatred and con¬ 
tempt of all the princes, and particularly of 
Rodolph of Suabia and Berthold of Zahringen. 
His treason and dishonor soon rendered him an 
object of horror to all. 

During its sitting at Nuremberg, there appeared 
before the assembly of princes a noble and loyal 
knight, named Redinger. He told to Dukes Ber¬ 
thold and Rodolph that the King had commanded 
him to assassinate them with the other princes at 
Wurzburg, by concealing some assassins in the 
hall where the Saxons were to withdraw after the 
meeting to collect the votes. was horrified at 
such baseness,’’ continued Redinger, and refused 
to lend myself to this abomination ; the King, 
furious at my refusal, drove me from his presence. 


394 Henry IV, 

and would have had me put to death had I not 
taken flight.” 

At this revelation the princes shuddered. Some 
days before this Henry had slain one of his friends 
with his own hand, and had the young Conrad, his 
private secretary, treacherously stabbed in the 
woods of Harzburg. The Saxons notified the 
King that from that moment they considered them¬ 
selves dispensed from their oath of fidelity, con¬ 
sidering that he had committed in their regard an 
infamous perjury, and meditated their death. 
They added that they wished to have nothing more 
in common with him, either in peace or in war. 

The perfidy of Henry went still further when 
holy things were concerned. That prince was 
always the irreconcilable enemy of the Church, and 
he used in her regard a twofold malice, with the 
same disloyalty which he had shown towards his 
princes and vassals. A long train of crimes, 
falsehood, calumny, and open treason mark¬ 
ed his reign during the pontificate of Alexander 
II. This prince, a rebel to the Church, did not 
change his course of conduct under Pope Gregory, 
whom he always misled with vain promises. His 
words, ever hypocritical, made a parade of de¬ 
votion and respect for the Church, whilst he mock¬ 
ed at the Holy See, made traffic of the dioceses and 
convents of Germany, selling to the highest bidder 
the bishoprics and abbeys, despoiling prelates and 
the monasteries of their goods and revenues, which 
he expended in the vilest orgies. A Protestant 
historian, Voigt, declares that Henry IV. respect- 


Henry IV. 


395 


ed nothing which came from the Holy Roman See ; 
he mocked at the exhortations as at the decrees of 
the pontiffs^ and said that no earthly authority was 
higher than that of the Emperor. 

Stil], when he saw himself threatened by the 
revolt of the Saxons and Thuringians, when the 
pnnces, wearied of his tyraniiy, abandoned him^ 
and the people, irritated by his cruelty and extra¬ 
vagance, wished to shake off his detestable yoke, 
Henry felt the crown which he had thought so 
firmly settled on his brow tremble. He began to 
reflect seriously, and felt that he had no other 
resource than to apply to Pope Gregory. 

Affecting the liveliest contrition, he wrote to the 
holy Pontiff a letter celebrated in the annals of hu¬ 
man hypocrisy. He confessed himself guilty of the 
most horrible crimes, and continued : Having 
obtained the crown from God, I have not always 
borne to the sacerdotal ofRce the respect which is 
due to it; I have despised its sacred rights ; I have 
oftener drawn the sword to oppress the innocent 
than to punish the guilty. But now, moved by 
the grace of God, repenting and entering into my¬ 
self, my head bowed in the dust, I confess to your 
most indulgent Holiness my past offences. I hope 
that, after having obtained from the apostolic 
authority pardon and absolution of my crimes, I 
shall also have received the pardon of the Most 
High. Alas ! alas ! with how many iniquities do 
I find myself laden ! I have often prevaricated 
through levity and the passions of my youth, or by 
the pride and license of power, or by the tempta- 


30 Henry IV. 

tions of the most detestable flatterers. Yes, I have 
sinned before Heaven and before thee, 0 my 
father ! and I am not worthy to be called thy son ; 
for not only have I stolen the things consecrated 
to God, but I have sold churches to base, unprin¬ 
cipled, and dissolute men. I have not defended, 
as I should have done, the episcopal sees against 
the rapine and violence of the impious. And as I 
cannot remedy so many evils and so much de¬ 
struction, I have recourse to thee, Holy Father, for 
thy counsel and assistance, promising thee, for the 
future, the most humble and profound obedience 
in all things.” 

In reading this letter, the holy Pope Gregory was 
filled with joy. He imparted to the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda and to several archbishops and princes of 
Germany the hoj)es with which the sincere con¬ 
version of the Emperor inspired him. The holy 
Pontiff judged Henry by himself. He was soon 
undeceived. Henry, having conquered the Saxons 
in an important battle, resumed all his arrogance, 
and, after having avenged himself on his adver¬ 
saries, .he at once recommenced his persecution of 
the Church. Herman, Bishop of Bamberg, having 
been deposed for simony by the Sovereign Pontiff, 
Henry immediately named to that important See 
Eupert of Goslar, a man of an execrable reputa¬ 
tion, and whom the people regarded as the chief 
counsellor of the tyrant. The Abbot of Fulda 
had just died. It was the most famous monastery 
of Germany at the time. Henry immediately con¬ 
voked the chapter to name a new abbot, and. 


Henry IV, 397 

while he had put up that mitre to the highest 
bidder, he perceived outside of the hall the monk 
Euttelin of Hersfeld, who had come to the abbey 
on business. He called him, placed the ring on 
his finger, and gave him the pastoral cross, saluting 
him as abbot, to the great astonishment of all pre¬ 
sent, and especially of the poor monk. At the 
death of the Abbot Ulric of Lorsch, the monks 
proposed to the Emperor a man notable for his 
knowledge and virtue. The Prince, in a sudden 
whim, saw a young monk sitting in a corner ; 

^^Eh ! ” said he, “come here.’’ 

The monk came trembling. 

“ Is it I whom thou callest. Sire ? ” 

“Yes, get there.” 

And he gave him the investiture of the abbey. 
He sold the episcopal sees, and if some ambitious 
wretch offered him a large sum of money, he re¬ 
ceived the investiture. It sometimes happened 
that a higher bidder would present himself. “ Sire, 
I offer thee a thousand marks more.” Henry 
would replace the first prelate by the second, and 
often Christian people had two bishops, and knew 
not which they obeyed. 

To these sacrileges were added the complaints 
and accusations of the Saxons, who appealed to 
the Pope against the excessive tyranny and impiety 
of their sovereign. They declared that the govern¬ 
ment of the empire was given up to the whims of 
base men, whom the Emperor sent to the election 
of bishops, prelates, and abbots, to the great 
scandal of the faithful. 


39B 


Henry IV, 

The Pope was not unaware of these enormities, 
and long before he received the complaints of the 
Saxons he had written gravely and severely to 
Henry, commanding him to return to his obedience 
to the Church. He further warned him that it 
was not allowable to have such intimate connection 
with men excommunicated by councils and con¬ 
demned by the Vicar of Jesus Christ. He ex¬ 
horted him to become converted, and to confess to 
a bishop who had received from the Holy See the 
power to absolve him from so many crimes. 

After the affair with the Saxons, G-regory wrote 
to him again. He commanded him to set at liberty 
the bishops whom he was keeping prisoners, or 
whom he had banished from the state, and at the 
same time to restore to them their goods which he 
had confiscated, the churches of which he had de¬ 
prived them. The Pope added that if the Empe¬ 
ror, after so many prayers, counsels, and positive 
orders, should persist in his rebellion to the decrees 
of the Father of the Faithful, and in his connection 
with those condemned, the sword of Saint Peter 
would itself cut him off from the maternal bosom 
of the Church. At this threat of excommuni¬ 
cation, Henry was at first intimidated, then, in- 
fiamed with the pride of his recent victories, he 
became furiously angry, and, to prove to the Pope 
that he feared his censures no more than he re¬ 
spected his authority, at the death of Hanno, Arch¬ 
bishop of Cologne, he elected and invested with 
that see Idulfe, his chaplain, in spite of the clergy 
and the people, and despising the sacred canons. 


399 


Henry IV. 

After these events, the legates of the Holy See 
signified to the King that he must appear before 
the Council of Eome, to answer to the accusations 
which the Saxons had made against him, and that 
under pain of being declared a rebel to the Church 
and deprived of the crown. Henry flew into a 
violent rage, drove the legates from his presence, 
and sent couriers to all the bishops and princes of 
his party. He immediately convoked the Synod of 
Worms, which uttered the blackest and most ab¬ 
surd calumnies against Gregory. It declared him 
guilty of simony, sorcery, murder, heresy, and wor¬ 
ship of Satan. Henry, who knew the eminent 
holiness of Gregory, laughed in his sleeve at these 
extravagant absurdities; but the bishops having 
come to proclaim the Pope deposed, he was the 
first to subscribe to this declaration. He sent the 
sacrilegious decrees of Worms to the schismatic 
bishops of Italy, especially to those of Lombardy 
and the Marches of Ancona, who swore never again 
to acknowledge the authority of Gregory. He had 
himself the impudence to address an imperious 
letter to the Sovereign Pontiff, in which he repeat¬ 
ed the gross falsehoods of Worms. He added : 
'‘I, King of Germany, do pronounce thy deposi¬ 
tion from all the rights of the Holy See which 
thou hast usurped, and I command thee to descend 
from the chair of Rome.” He wrote at the same 
time to the Romans, enjoining on them to expel 
Gregory from the Pontifical throne. 

Meanwhile, the Holy Father had assembled a 
council at Rome. At the first session, at which the 


400 


Henry IV. 


Pope presided, surrounded by bishops, the Prefect 
of Rome, nobles, and people, suddenly presented 
himself before that august assembly a schismatic 
priest from Parma named Roland, who arrogantly 
exclaimed to the Sovereign Pontiff : 

I am the ambassador of King Henry, and I 
summon thee, in his name, to descend from that 
chair which thou hast usurped.’’ Then, addressing 
the bishops : 

I command you, in the Emperor’s name, to pre¬ 
sent yourselves before his throne at the Feast of 
Pentecost, so as to receive from his hands a Pope, 
being understood that Gregory is not a Pontiff, 
but a ravenous wolf.” 

And he threw to Gregory a letter from Henry. 
At this impudent language every one present was 
filled with anger. The noble Romans had already 
drawn their swords to cut the messenger to pieces, 
but Gregory made a shield of his own body, and 
cried : 

Shed not blood in the church of God ! My 
brethren, await patiently, I pray you, for the hour 
of retribution.” 

He calmly opened Henry’s letter and. read it 
aloud. The Poj)e, seeing that all the bishops were 
moved to indignation, would not continue the ses¬ 
sion that day. Next day, in that august assembly, 
he solemnly excommunicated Henry and his princi¬ 
pal accomplices. He notified the German archbishops 
and princes of the reasons which had determined 
him to this act, which was forcible, but necessary for 
the maintenance of the unity of the Church. Gre- 


Henry IV. 


401 


gory made it especially known in this letter that the 
Emperor, under fine words, was trampling under foot 
the divine laws, making the most abominable traffic 
of sacred orders and holy things, and seeking to 
destroy the unity of the Church. 

The thunders of Rome agitated the whole of Ger¬ 
many and made there a painful impression. Henry 
himself experienced a great shock at the first news. 
He was just then at Utrecht for the festival of 
Easter. But William, Bishop of that See, who was 
very hostile to Gregory, reassured the King, per¬ 
suaded him not to fear the censures of the Pope, 
and, the day of that Feast, mounted the pulpit to 
give vent to his hatred against the lawful Pastor of 
the Church, whom he called a perjurer, an infa¬ 
mous wretch unworthy of the tiara, the abominable 
and detestable enemy of God. Scarcely had he 
come down from the pulpit when he was seized with 
violent pains. He fell down writhing and working, 
retracting the calumnies which he had uttered 
against Gregory, and confessing himself guilty of 
the King’s sins and of the scandal given by him to 
the faithful. One of Henry’s courtiers having come 
to visit him, he exclaimed, in his dying voice : 

Tell thy King that he, I, and the workers of 
so much iniquity, are lost ! ” 

Then, turning towards the clergy who surroun¬ 
ded his bed : 

I am damned,” said he ; ‘'pray not for me !” 

And he died in despair. Several other bishops 
of the Synod of Worms were punished in the same 
manner, amongst others Bernard of Wisnie, Hep- 


402 


Henry IV. 

pon of Zeitz, and Duke Gothelo, who perished 
miserably. These sudden chastisements of the 
heavenly vengeance increased still more the terror 
of all Germany, already alarmed by the Pope’s rigor¬ 
ous act. Before the wrath of the successor of St. 
Peter the frightened bishops and princes trembling¬ 
ly became converted; they made a pilgrimage to 
Eome to implore absolution for their crimes. Those 
who kept in prison the Saxon princes and prelates, 
of whom Henry had obtained possession by treason, 
released them in spite of the King. 

Two brothers, Theodoric and Wilhelm, sons of 
Count Gero, burning with love for their country, 
which had groaned so long beneath the yoke of 
Henry, went through Saxony, inciting them to 
throw otf so cruel a bondage. The freed princes, 
brave young men, the friends of Saxony, rallied at 
the voice of the two brothers, and the whole people 
took up arms. The Saxons sounded their war-cry. 
The most faithful friends of Henry abandoned him, 
spite of his hypocritical tears, to protest their devo¬ 
tion and obedience to the Vicar of Jesus Christ. 
Rodolph of Suabia, Berthold of Oarinthia, Adalbert 
of Wurzburg, Hermann of Metz, and Guelph of 
Bavaria, separated from the Emperor to form a 
league in the heart of Germany. Seeing himself 
reduced to such a deplorable extremity, Henry 
made fine promises to the Saxons, but they who had 
so often experienced his bad faith remained deaf 
to his entreaties. He convoked a Diet at Worms, 
and invited all the princes to assist at it, but none 
presented themselves, Rodolph, Guelph, Berthold, 


Henry IV. 


403 


and Adalbert assembled at Ulm, and induced all 
those who had at heart the glory of the empire 
and the peace of the Church to meet in a fortnight 
at the Palace of Treurer, to proceed to the election 
of a new emperor in case Henry should refuse to 
submit sincerely to the Holy See, to expel from 
the court his infamous favorites and his evil coun¬ 
sellors, and to restore to the Church her lawful pas¬ 
tors. At the same time, they sent to the Holy Fa¬ 
ther Count Mangolde of Varingen, and Eudon, 
Archbishop of Treves, to make known to him the 
proceedings at Treurer, and to invite his Holiness 
to the general Diet of all the states of Germany and 
Italy, which was to be held at Augsburg. 

This Diet was fixed for the 2d of February. 
Gregory, in spite of his great age, the severity of 
the season, and the length of the journey across 
the snow-covered mountains, promised to repair 
thither. He kept his word, and set out about the 
middle of December, with a strong escort of Tuscan 
warriors whom the Countess Mathilda had sent to 
meet him. Henry, on his part, seeing that the 
months were passing rapidly, and that, if he let the 
year of excommunication pass, he would be deprived 
of his rights to the crown, according to the ancient 
law of Germany, resolved to go into Italy to the 
presence of the Pope, to cast himself at his feet, 
and to obtain absolution. He lost no time, set out 
from Spire, and proceeded to Lombardy, passing 
through Burgundy. 

Beholding the portrait which we have given of 
this prince, the reader will doubtless say that the 


404 


Henry IV. 


painter of this picture has chosen to fill his palette 
with the darkest colors. And truly, Henry IV. is 
a cruel and sinister type, a real tyrant, the ISTero of 
the eleventh century ! Yet this picture is but a 
sketch, a mere rudely-drawn outline, without soul, 
without being. What would it be did we repro¬ 
duce the portrait which has been left us of Henry, 
not by a hypocrite, a Papist, a poor obscure monk 
of the Middle Ages, but a man of lofty genius, 
sound judgment, vast and accurate erudition, a sa¬ 
gacious observer of the period which we have un¬ 
dertaken to describe, a heart most indifferent to the 
triumph of the Catholic Church, to which he did 
not belong, to the glory of a Pope whose authority 
he did not recognize, the Protestant Jean Voigt; 
in a word, an eminent mind, an elegant writer, 
who borrowed from the friends and enemies of 
Henry all the materials which were offered him by 
the most severe critic of history to trace a true 
portrait of that hero. If the picture is repulsive, 
it is neither VoigPs fault nor ours. We have 
sought, especially, to draw from the disloyalty of 
Henry an argument in defence of Gregory, whom 
numerous writers have taxed with pride, arrogance, 
and exaggerated cruelty. The Pope’s fears were 
but too well founded. Henry, after many supplica¬ 
tions, tears, and protestations, was scarcely relieved 
from his excommunication (thanks to the interven¬ 
tion of the Countess Mathilda) when he sought to 
obtain possession of the Pope and of the illustrious 
lady, to put them to death. 



CHAPTER XVm. 

GKEGORY VII. 

Between Lake Vico and Viterbo, at the foot of 
Mount Oimone, there was collected a great number of 
warriors, troops, and horses. Young mountaineers 
crossed the steep ascents, climbed the loftiest peaks, 
to scour the distant plain, in the direction of the 
valleys which intersperse the country from Rome to 
Ronciglione. At the head of the men-at-arms and 
courtiers were the Lords of Spoleto, Amalia, Peru¬ 
gia, Oamorino, and other barons, vassals of the 
illustrious Countess Mathilda of Canossa. All 
were magnificently apparelled, mounted on noble 
coursers superbly harnessed and covered with plates 
of silver, with waving saddle-cloths embroidered in 
gold. Each of them was preceded by an outrider 
bearing the banner of his lord; pages, in tunics of 
cloth of gold and scarlet, carried cups and vases, 
some filled with money, others with meat, pastry, 
and exquisite wines. All at once the sentinels 
placed on the heights above waved their white ban¬ 
ners, and all the troops collected at the foot of the 
mountain shouted : It is he ! he has come I” At 
this signal, they fell into line all along the route, 
and waited. 







4o6 Gregory VIL 

These were the troops of the Countess Mathilda; 
she had despatched them from Lucca, Pisa, and 
the other Tuscan cities to increase the retinue of 
y the Sovereign Pontiff, G-regory VII., who was 
coming from Eome with a number of cardinals 
and prelates to assist in person at the Diet of 
Augsburg, to which he had been urgently invited 
by the German princes. When the warriors beheld 
him arrive beside Lake Vico, they uttered exclama¬ 
tions of joy and struck their shields with their 
swords. The barons riding forward alighted from 
their horses, and bent their knee before the Sove¬ 
reign Pontiff. They kissed his feet, and offered 
him presents. The Pope received them kindly, 
blessed them, and placed on either side of him the 
Lords of Spoleto and Camerino, who would not 
remount their steeds. They led his mule by the 
bridle to the summit of the mountain, where they 
yielded that honor to the Viterbians, who had 
hastened to the front of the procession followed by 
a troop of knights. 

Gregory wore a large cape lined with gray fur 
and bordered with ermine. He had also enveloped 
himself to guard against the cold in a large cloak 
of cloth lined with lambskin. In spite of this 
precaution the holy old man had suffered a great 
deal from the snow and the cold mountain air. 
But his vigorous soul was not made to yield to the 
malice of men or the obstacles of nature. He 
was a man of noble and austere mien, of middle 
height, and with an eye piercing, yet serene. His 
brow was lofty, his head large and a little bald 


407 


Gregory VII, 

towards the front. His countenance inspired con¬ 
fidence and respect, and his speech, soft and sono¬ 
rous, had a persuasive charm which won all 
hearts. His manner was a happy mixture of 
majesty and gentleness, of greatness tempered 
by humility, and of energy softened by the charity 
with which his great heart was consumed. 

In reading history calmly and impartially, ex¬ 
amining, one by one, all the acts of his tempes¬ 
tuous life, we find Gregory possessed of a heart of 
iron, the ardor of a lion, an inconceivable activity, 
a firm and well-balanced mind, and, at once, the 
gentleness of the lamb, the simplicity of the dove, 
and a mother’s tenderness. That eye, whose impe¬ 
rious glances made tyrants tremble, was ever turned 
with kindness on the poor, and often shed sweet 
tears before the holy altar. The liberty of the 
Church was the only desire of his life ; his every 
action, all his words, had no other end than this. 
For the Church he braved the sword, and engaged 
in supreme combats. Christian kings found in 
him a bulwark against the insubordination of their 
people, and the people a defender against the op¬ 
pression of kings. In spite of the bitterness which 
overwhelmed him from the iniquities of Henry IV., 
who in Germany arrogated to himself the sove¬ 
reign right of nominating the bishops and dis¬ 
posing of the goods of the Church, he ceased not 
to send his legates and his letters to the kings of 
Korway, Denmark, Sweden, England, France, 
Hungary, Bohemia^ and Spain, as if each of these 
were the sole object of his paternal solicitude. 


4 o8 


Gregory VIL 

Still the times were evil. Sometimes the princes, 
sometimes the bishops, despised the authority of the 
Vicar of Christ and refused to submit to it. Ever 
unshaken, Gregory resisted, like a wall of brass, 
the attacks of the wicked and the pride of rebels. 

But Henry, in his stubborn resolve to dash him¬ 
self against the rock of the Vatican, could not fail 
to find accomplished in himself one day the threat 
of Jesus Christ: ‘‘Whosoever shall fall on this 
stone shall be broken.’^ God reserved for Gregory 
the triumph of seeing humbled at his feet this man 
who for so many years had oppressed him, by de¬ 
spising in his person Christ himself. But the holy 
Pontiff, a stranger to all thought of ambition, had 
only undertaken that long and painful journey in 
the hope of recalling that erring king to better sen¬ 
timents, so as to restore peace to the Church and 
tranquillity to the whole of Germany, torn by the 
fiercest dissensions. This sublime idea had made 
him brave the passage of the Apennines to reach 
Lombardy, and the most terrible dangers of the 
Alps, which he had to cross before entering Ger¬ 
many. 

At Viterbo, Gregory received the homage of the 
barons of Orte, of Bevagna, and Corneto, in pre¬ 
sence of an immense multitude who had collected 
on his passage, braving snow and ice to have the 
happiness of beholding his face and receiving his 
benediction. The holy Pontiff found everywhere 
this consolation, so sweet to his heart. The faith 
and love of these simple mountaineers consoled him 
for the pride and arrogance of the great, who de- 


409 


Gregory VIL 

spised in the Vicar of G-od the censor of their 
crimes. He stopped at Bolsena, to visit the tomb 
of St. Christina, martyred in the ancient city of 
Tiro. Thence he proceeded to the collegiate 
church erected by the Countess Mathilda, and 
there received the clergy of the town, as also those 
of Soana, his native place, which might well be 
proud of having given to the throne of Sh Peter a 
great saint, a great pope, and the greatest man of 
his age. 

On the banks of the Paglia had assembled from 
Acqnapendente, and all the castles whose turrets 
are outlined against the wooded slopes of the Apen¬ 
nines, numerous bands of men, on foot and on 
horseback, to guard the ford of the river and re¬ 
move from his path the stones which encumbered 
it. At the arrival of the Pope, twenty-four horse¬ 
men rode into the river, and took up their position 
there in two lines facing each other. The Pope 
rode into the water, escorted by mountaineers of 
great height, who kept the bridle of his mule and 
held up the stirrups to prevent them from getting 
wet. Whilst crossing the water, they kissed the 
Holy Father’s feet, saying: Courage, Holy Father; 
fear not! ” They thus reached the other bank, 
and the procession made a halt. Gregory caused 
his almoner to distribute some marks of silver, also 
bread and wine, with which they drank his health. 

At this period, the road most frequented in 
going to Tuscany was not that of Radicofani, but 
the mountains of San Fiore, with their narrow and 
deep defiles, their slopes bordered with fortresses 


410 Gregory VIL 

which overlooked the path. The Castle of San 
Fiore itself was occupied by a numerous garrison, 
who defended the gorges of the pass. The roads 
were rough, tortuous, enclosed, and overhanging 
abysses which inspired the passer-by with terror. In 
a severe season, the snow which rolled down from 
the neighboring heights obstructed a great part of 
the road. The hard and polished ice prevented 
horses from walking, even though their shoes were 
furnished with spikes. To these dangers were 
added that of the avalanches, which rolled down 
the sides of the mountain, carrying with them, as in 
a torrent, trees and portions of rock. 

In order to facilitate the Pope’s journe}^, the 
Countess Mathilda had sent bands of pioneers to 
level the slopes, fill up ravines, break the masses of 
ice, throw the trunks of trees over the torrents to 
serve as bridges, and to smooth the unevenness of 
the road. In the most dangerous places they 
planted stakes, and on steep descents they made 
cuts and furrows, to give a footing for horses and 
mules. These same mountaineers at the present 
day still form a rude and rustic race. In the 
eleventh century they were clad in wolf or goat 
skin, and their hair was concealed by a cap of fox 
or rabbit skin, which covered their temples and 
ears. But beneath this rude covering beat noble 
hearts, ready to brave all dangers. At the Pope’s 
approach they knelt down in the snow, ice, and 
mud, their hands clasped, their heads bare in spite 
of the rain, to receive his benediction—a precious 
token, which they bore with them into their poor 


Gregory VI!. 411 

cabins, and of which the recital, after having edi¬ 
fied their families, was transmitted as a domestic 
legend to future generations. 

Gregory was deeply touched by these marks of 
respect. He admired the goodness of God towards 
these simple souls, whilst he was horrified at the in¬ 
solence of the proud, who, blinded by their pas¬ 
sions, no longer see the true light, and believe 
themselves great because they refuse to bow their 
head before the Vicar of Jesus Christ. Some 
wretches at the Synod of Worms had erased 
his name from the number of pontiffs, proclaiming 
him deposed from dignity, power, and authority, 
loading him with curses and insults; but the people 
were uninfluenced by the envy or cunning of these 
cruel enemies of the Pope, and hastened from all 
parts, pressing eagerly round his feet, to see and 
honor him as the supreme pastor of nations and the 
representative of God on earth. 

It was reserved for us, after the lapse of eight 
centuries, to behold the same fury raging around 
the head of the august Pius IX. We have seen a 
band of rebels of all nations uttering horrible im¬ 
precations against him, and from the height of the 
Capitol proclaiming him deposed from bis authority 
and power over Rome. But soon did Catholic arms 
re-establish Pius IX. on the throne of the Vatican, 
and we have seen him pass in triumph, not only 
through town and country of his States, but 
through the whole of Italy, from Sebeto to Panaro, 
amid the ovations of the people, who crowded on 
his path to see, to gaze on him with love, and to re¬ 
ceive his benediction. 


412 Gregory VII. 

The adversaries of Gregory VIT. were the pilla¬ 
gers of the goods of the Church—dissolute men, 
who contemned the divine laws. The enemies of 
Pius IX., as Pope and as monarch, are men who 
despise all legitimate power, and who, after having 
banished God from the earth, substitute for him 
humanity, blinded by their pride, like the first 
angel, who wished to raise himself a throne above 
the stars, and seat himself beside God. Only, these 
latter are prouder, if not more malicious, than 
Satan himself, and do not even deign to reign 
equally with God; it is his divinity which they at¬ 
tack and endeavor to overthrow to become them¬ 
selves the gods of the earth. Scarcely do they 
admit one goddess, their country. But her being 
deified costs her dear. Her wealth is stolen, her 
churches and palaces burned, her princes banished, 
her ancient laws destroyed, all her glory trodden 
under foot, and her children—who are still simple 
enough to acknowledge and adore God, the Creator 
and Redeemer of the world, to respect their Mother, 
the Holy Church, to render homage and obedience 
to the Sovereign Pontiff, the Vicar of Jesus Christ 
—are slain. 

Such are the doctrines which we see reproduced 
more or less openly every day under the exterior of 
an elegant and florid style. They are found in 
books, in journals, in public discourses, on the 
stage; they are circulated in the army, on board 
vessels, are re-echoed in public places, propagated 
in magazines, studios, workshops. 

In every way they take pains to demonstrate that 


413 


Gregory VII. 

the Pope is a great obstacle to the liberty and 
independence of Italy; that, the sovereignty of the 
Holy Father abolished, Italy would at once become 
one and ^mdivided! Happy are the Protestants 
who can manage their affairs without a Pope ; hap¬ 
pier still Italy if she could some day decide on ab¬ 
juring the tradition of St. Peter, to give herself, 
body and soul, to Luther or Calvin. 

In the gorges of the Apennines, in the heart of 
winter, Gregory saw these rude mountaineers brave 
ice and snow, tempests and avalanches, to behold 
him for an instant; Pius IX., on the other hand, 
sees immense crowds of luxurious citizens, noble 
ladies and delicate maidens, await him for long 
hours beneatli the scorching rays of the dog-star, 
regardless of the heat, motionless and with un¬ 
covered heads, as though they were in the shelter 
of the foliage. After having seen him at one place, 
they hasten to see him again at a convent, a hos¬ 
pital, a church; the great basilicas of Bologna, Fer¬ 
rara, Modena, Florence, Pisa, Sienna, and Lucca 
were filled with people, and the crowd who awaited 
him without in the fervid heat of the sun or under 
torrents of rain was still more numerous than that 
which thronged these vast edifices. All the streets 
through which the Sovereign Pontiff was to pass 
were filled with a crowd so dense that the horses 
could scarcely move one foot after another, and they 
often found themselves obliged to stop before the 
people who knelt to receive his blessing. Neither 
barriers nor enclosures could restrain this torrent; 
they surmounted all obstacles to surround their be- 


414 


Grcgoty VIl. 


loved father, who blessed his children with a gentle 
glance, and, regardless of the wheels, threw them¬ 
selves on the steps of the Pope’s carriage to kiss his 
hands and again receive his benediction. 

And yet these are the people, we are told, 
who would sacrifice the Pope to the indepen¬ 
dence of Italy ! Nevertheless, it is deplorable that 
they allow agitators to convulse the country 
without imposing on them the restraint of the 
sacred laws of religion and the rights of the people. 

Gregory YII. found, in the gorges of Mount 
Amiata, many difficult passages, especially towards 
the river Orcia, which had overflowed its bed. 
The woodcutters of the country attached a stone 
to a thick rope, throwing the end of it to the 
mountaineers on the. other bank. These latter 
fastened it to the trunk of a tree ; then the former 
held it firmly, and knotted the other end to an oak. 
The knights of the vanguard at first attempted the 
passage ; after them came the Pope, holding firmly 
by the cable. His whole retinue crossed the river 
in the same manner. This precaution was not use¬ 
less, for the river, running rapidly, foamed up 
round the horses’ flanks, and the impetuosity of the 
current might have carried them off. 

In those times, when Europe was still wild, there 
were no highways. The means of communication, 
narrow and irregular, were broken by marshes and 
swamps, and obstructed with obstacles which were 
often very dangerous; no bridges on the rivers or 
streams. Immense tracts of country were covered 
with thick forests and swamps, which could not be 


415 


Gregory VIL 

crossed on horseback. Therefore it is that we have 
such difficulty in understanding how so many pil- 
gi’ims could make the journey to Rome. This did 
not hinder the Sovereign Pontiffs from continually 
sending cardinal legates into France, Germany, 
Sweden, England, and Norway. Very often we are 
annoyed at being obliged to travel on convenient 
roads, smooth, broad, enlivened by beautiful rows 
of trees. We complain of burning sun, of severe 
cold, and yet we are carried along on soft cushions, 
spring seats, protected from cold by glass, from the 
sun by curtains; we fly along on the wings of 
steam, impatient to arrive at the end of a journey 
of some hours which seem like ages to us, whilst 
our ancestors could only accomplish it painfully in 
several days. Whence proceeds this difference ? 
It is that these men were of a more energetic 
mould, of a more ardent and vigorous will, of firmer 
resolution, and of a more intrepid character. 

The departure of the Pope from Lombardy had 
not been a matter of indifference to the Countess 
Mathilda, deeply penetrated from her earliest 
youth with respect and love, which withstood all 
trials, for the Holy Apostolic See. When she had 
been informed of it, she abandoned the pleasures 
of her court, took horse with the flower of Italian 
knighthood, and in the cold and hardship of winter 
set out from Canossa, following the crest of the 
Apennines. She crossed the dangerous defile of 
Mount Bourdon to go down to Pontremoli, and 
thence journeyed through Lucca and Pisa, where 
she expected to meet the Sovereign Pontiff. 


416 Gregory VIL 

The Pisans, at that period, recognized the sov¬ 
ereignty of Mathilda. Tliey were hardy mariners 
who enriched themselves at once by their traffic on 
the sea and by their fertile territory. At the 
first rumor of the arrival of the Pope, they began 
preparations to give him a splendid reception. All 
the ships then in port were decorated, and ranged 
themselves in the mouth of the Arno as far as 
Pisa, covered with sumptuous Eastern carpets, and 
displaying from every mast a thousand bright- 
colored flags. All the streets through which the 
procession was to pass were hung with damask, 
brocade, satin, and velvet, with broad fringe of 
gold, strewn with flowers or covered with costly 
carpets. The Countess Mathilda, mounted on a 
snow-white horse, advanced to meet Gregory at 
the head of all the barons. Having reached him, she 
alighted and knelt before him ; the Pontiff raised 
her graciously, and gave her his hand to kiss. 
Twenty-four of the richest Pisan gentlemen, clad 
in large mantles of cloth-of-gold, carried each in 
turn the poles of the canopy under which the 
Pope advanced, having on his left the illustiious 
Countess, who respectfully remained a little be¬ 
hind, with bowed head, in the modest attitude of a 
daughter in presence of her father. 

The Archbishop, followed by all his clergy, came 
forth from the cathedral to receive the Pope, who 
proceeded to kneel before the altar of that vast and 
majestic basilica, even at that epoch the most 
splendid monument of the piety and munificence 
of the Pisans, who opened, in Italy, the golden 


Gregory VII. 417 

gate of the arts. As long as they remained faith¬ 
ful to the Vicar of God, their power and glory 
ever increased; but they soon lost their splendor 
when they allied themselves with the oppressors of 
the Pope and the Church. 

Gregory knelt and blessed all present; then he 
was conducted by the Countess Mathilda to the 
tomb of the Duchess Beatrice, where he prayed for 
the repose of that illustrious heroine, whose arms, 
whose treasures, and whose counsel had so long 
sustained the Pontiff Alexander II. against the 
persecution of Henry, the intrigues of Gilbert, the 
perfidy of the wicked, the invasions of the Normans, 
and the impiety of the anti-pope Cadolaus. But, 
in the eyes of Gregory, the greatest merit of that 
illustrious woman was the solid and religious educa¬ 
tion which she had given to Mathilda, teaching 
her to combat, from her earliest years, within the 
camp of the Lord. 

From Pisa the Holy Father proceeded to Lucca, 
which was then the seat of the Marquisate of Tus¬ 
cany, and of the parliament of Mathilda’s vast states. 
In that town, the magnificence of the palaces is 
only surpassed by the splendor of the gorgeous 
temples. On the entrance of the Pontiff all the 
bells of the city pealed out joyously ; an immense 
multitude who had hastened thither from all the 
surrounding places thronged the basilica of Saint 
Frederic, where the Pope was solemnly received by 
the canons and clergy. Some priests who had 
been guilty of simony had deposed from his see 
Saint Anselm, the bishop, counsellor, and spiritual 


4 i 8 


Gregory VII. 


guide of Mathilda. But the saints have all but 
one way of avenging themselves ; the holy prelate, 
banished, calumniated, forced from his pastoral 
see, cast himself at Gregory’s feet to implore par¬ 
don for these guilty men. 

Yoland was still at the court of Mathilda, who 
loved her as her own daughter. She had brought 
her into Tuscany, where the poor child had the 
consolation, very sweet to her heart, of being 
enabled frequently to kiss the feet of the Holy 
Father and receive his benediction. Now, two 
days after his arrival at Lucca, the Pope, returning 
from the new cathedral of Saint Martin, which the 
Countess had erected at great cost, found Mathilda 
and Yoland awaiting him at his apartments. Be¬ 
fore leaving, the latter advanced to kiss his feet, 
and said, as she arose : 

Holy Pontiff, deign also to bless my father, who 
for so many years has pined in exile because of the 
ardent love which he has never ceased to bear to 
the holy Pope Alexander, and to thyself, his 
worthy successor.” 

Gregory looked kindly at her, and, seeing her 
weep, he asked the Countess Mathilda who the 
damsel was. 

She is the daughter of the Count of Gronin¬ 
gen,” replied she. 

Then the Pope, turning to Yoland, exclaimed 
with a sweet smile : 

‘‘Thou art the daughter of a noble champion 
of the Holy Church, who hath suffered much 
for justice’ sake; but we trust that his long 


Gregory VII. 419 

and sorrowful exile is, thanks to G-od, ended for 
ever/’ 

‘‘ He lives concealed near the shrine of Boleslau 
as a poor pilgrim,” said Yoland. 

/‘No, my daughter,” replied the Pope ; “ I have 
lately received some letters which apprise me that the 
greater number of the German princes have aban¬ 
doned Henry because of his tyranny towards his 
vassals and his infidelity towards the Church. 
They have convoked to the Diet of Treuver all the 
barons freed from prison or still under ban of the 
empire. The Count of Groningen, thy father, 
was at length enabled to leave his retreat and ap¬ 
pear at the Diet, where all the princes received 
him with great demonstrations of joy. They ob¬ 
liged the Brandenburgians to restore him his states, 
with all his seignorial rights, and to repair all the 
injury which this unjust and cruel usurpation has 
caused him. Count Pandolph imparted to me these 
happy tidings, which filled me with joy; his name 
appears amongst those who have invited me to the 
Diet of Augsburg for the Feast of the Purifica¬ 
tion.” 

At these words Yoland raised her eyes to heaven, 
and, her heart penetrated with a joy which shone 
on her face, she said humbly: 

“ Thanks be to thee, 0 my God ! and to thee, 
most sweet and merciful Queen ! who hast heard the 
prayer of thy servant.” 

Then, no longer able to bear the tumult of her 
thoughts, she gracefully took leave of the Holy 
Father, and retired in great agitation to her apart- 


420 Gregory VIL 

ments. Then the Countess Mathilda related to the 
Pope the persecution of the young Marquis of 
Brunn and the sad adventures of the virtuous 
young girl. 

Whilst the Sovereign Pontiff was conversing with 
the Countess, Saint Anselm came to announce the 
arrival of a German knight who declared himself 
the bearer of despatches of great importance for 
his Holiness and her Serene Highness the Countess. 

I come,” said he, from the heart of Germany, 
and I stopped at Canossa, hoping there to find the 
Countess. I learned that she had crossed the Ap¬ 
ennines to meet his Holiness. I then changed my 
course, and I desire, even before taking the least 
repose, to have a short audience with them.” 

Admit the knight,” said Gregory to the lackey 
who announced him. 

The gates were raised to give passage to a warrior 
of great height, with helmet on head. He wore a 
breastplate of steel, and a coat of mail reaching to 
his knees. In place of plates of steel for his limbs 
he had breeches of mail of the same temper as his 
armor. He knelt down on the threshold, took the 
same posture in the middle of the hall, and, arriv¬ 
ing before the throne, prostrated himself to kiss 
the feet of the Vicar of Jesus Christ with tender 
effusion. He exclaimed: 

How I can die ! ” 

Gregory raised him affectionately, and said : 

‘‘ Sir knight, explain the object of thy mission, 
to which the Countess Mathilda and myself will 
listen most willingly.” 


Gregory VII. 421 

Most Holy Father/’ said the knight, the eyils 
which King Henry has drawn upon us by his ex¬ 
cesses have reached their height. At thy voice, 
heard in the Council of Rome, all Germany was 
agitated, and all who still cherished a single spark 
of faith in their hearts received thy word as the 
voice of God. On the return of Eudo, Bishop of 
Treves, who refused to hold communication with 
the Archbishops of Cologne and Mayence, as having 
been deaf to the warnings of your Holiness, all the 
princes, lay and clerical, conceived such a fear of 
the judgments of God that they abandoned the 
court of Henry.* The Emperor sought to put a 
fair face on it; and to conciliate the Saxons and 
Thuringians, he drew from prison, where he had 
treacherously retained them, the princes who had 
not before made their escape, among them the 
Bishops of Magdeburg, Merseburg, and of Misnia, 
Duke Otho of Kordheim, Duke Magnus, and 
Frederic, Palatine of the Rhine. But seeing that 
the Saxons placed no faith in his promises, that 
they feared his malice and deceit,f he hastily raised 
an army, and, claiming the aid of the King of 
Bohemia, he attacked Misnia and devastated all 
with fire and sword. The Saxons, with all their 
princes, then marched against him, numerous and 
terrible ; so that Henry, already encamped on the 
river Mult, was forced to retreat precipitately, and, 
crossing Bohemia and Bavaria, he took refuge in 
Worms in shame and anger. J 

* Annals Treves, Book XII. •I' Annals Sax., a.d. 1076. 
t Lamb., a.d. 1070. 


422 Gregory VII. 

“Thou knowest, Most Holy Father, that the 
princes of Germany, seeing Henry’s obstinate dis¬ 
obedience to the Church and his disloyalty towards 
the great vassals of the Empire, assembled at 
Treuver to pronounce his deposition and to elect 
another king, faithful to God, just and mild in his 
sway. The paternal love which thou hast ever 
borne towards Henry determined thee to send to 
that Diet thy legates a latere —Siccard, Patriarch of 
Aquila, and Altmann, Bishop of Padua—who had 
orders before pronouncing his deposition to try 
every gentle means to induce Henry to enter into 
himself and become sincerely reconciled with the 
Church.* All Germany, assembled at Treuver, ad¬ 
mired thine immense charity, thine excessive pa¬ 
tience and longanimity towards a man who had so 
often deceived, insulted, and persecuted thee unto 
death. 

“ Henry, warned that the Diet had assembled to 
elect a new king, retired to the Castle of Oppen- 
heim, between Mayence and Treuver, and thence he 
unceasingly sent ambassadors to the Diet to concili¬ 
ate the suffrages and the good-will of that august 
assembly. But the princes, with whom he had so often 
trifled, remained inflexible. However, to prevent 
him from having resort to any extreme measure, 
they sent him an embassy of Saxons and Suabians, 
to make known to him that they had sent his sen¬ 
tence of condemnation or of absolution to your Ho¬ 
liness, whom they were going to invite to the Diet 


Chron. Aug,, a.d. 1078. 


Gregory VII. 


423 


of Augsburg ; but that if he had not been released 
from his sentence of excommunication within the 
term of a year, he would be deposed from all part in 
or right to the royal prerogatives. They command¬ 
ed him to restore the church of Worms to the 
Bishop Adalbert of Rheinfeldt, whom he had ex¬ 
pelled by force,* and to acknowledge himself, by 
decree, guilty of injustice and cruelty towards 
Saxony, Thuringia, and Swabia, of which confession 
a copy should be sent to Italy. He must then re¬ 
pair to Eome to implore pardon of your Holiness, 
and to submit to thy orders ; to expel from his 
court all excommunicated persons ; to dissolve the 
army; to strip himself of the insignia of royalty; to 
return to private life and place himself under the 
spiritual direction of the Bishop of Verdun and 
some other holy priests. They finally forbade him 
to visit either churches or holy" places during the 
whole time of his interdict. To these conditions 
Henry, inwardly convulsed with rage, but hoping 
at this price to retain the crown of Germany, swore 
to submit in every point; and to fulfil the injunc¬ 
tions of the Diet he at once retired, with his wife 
and son, into a castle of Spire.f 

Amid a profound silence and gloomy solitude, 
the Emperor lived like a hermit, without wishing 
any communication with any living being. He 
took no care of his person, cut neither his nails nor 
his hair; his bristling and disordered beard made 
him appear like a savage. Always pensive, taciturn, 


* St. Gregory, Epist. IV., 3. 


+ Voigt, p. 476. 


424 Gregory VII. 

a prey to sadness, nothing could distract his mind 
from the deep melancholy which consumed it day 
and night. The Queen, who had not abandoned 
him in his days of trial, had become endeared to 
him; her sweetness and affability tempered a little 
the intense bitterness of the remorse which preyed 
upon his heart. When she saw him gloomier than 
usual, she would bring him her little Conrad, who 
would jump upon his father’s knee and tenderly 
caress him. 

However, the days were passing, and Henry 
saw with terror the approach of the fatal term 
which the princes of the empire had assigned him, in 
virtue of the Palatine laws, which declared de¬ 
posed from all rights to the crown of Germany the 
prince who, in the space of a year, had failed to 
obtain the absolution of the Holy See. Abandoned 
by all, without courtiers, without soldiers, without 
money, Henry had fallen from the pinnacle of 
grandeur into an abyss of misery. He roared like 
a wounded lion, struck his forehead, and cried, 
like the prodigal child : ^ I will arise and go to my 
father!’ . . . With his wife, her child, and some 
servants, he set out for Italy. On learning of his 
departure, Eudolph of Suabia, Guelph of Bavaria, 
and Berthold of Carinthia, hastily placed guards 
at the defiles of the Tyrol, beside the Eisach, Adige» 
Tagliamento, and Piave. * But Henry, who sus¬ 
pected their designs, turned into Burgundy and 
made arrangements to go into Italy by the Cottian 


* Lambert, 1077. 


42 s 


Gregory VII. 

Alps. As soon as I was informed of it, I jumped 
into the saddle, and resolved not to stop till I had 
cast myself at the feet of your Holiness to inform 
you of this great news. On the way I met many 
German archbishops, bishops, and abbots, who, 
mourning the scandal of Worms, wished to cast 
themselves at thy feet to solicit their pardon. But 
at the same time I learned that numerous prelates 
and Lombard lords, informed of the arrival of the 
Emperor in Italy, have risen and are making great 
preparations to receive him in triumph, and put him 
at the head of a numerous and warlike army. It 
would seem to me that your Holiness should not 
pursue the road to Augsburg, but should stop at 
Canossa, which is a strongly-fortified place, until 
the intentions of Henry and the Lombards are 
known.’’ 

During this discourse neither Gregory nor Mathil¬ 
da had broken silence; but when the warrior had 
ceased speaking, the Pope asked him : 

Sir knight, who art thou ? ” 

The knight bent one knee to the ground. 

I am,” answered he, ‘^Pandolph of Gronin¬ 
gen.” 



CHAPTER XTX. 

THE PASSAGE OF THE ALPS. 

The winter of 1077 was so rigorous that, proper¬ 
ly speaking, there were no longer any rivers beyond 
the Alps. The harsh and biting north wind had 
frozen into thick and solid ice the tranquil waters 
of the lakes and the currents of the rivers. The 
Danube, the Rhine, the Rhone, the Inn, and all 
bodies of water, large and small, were frozen so hard 
that heavy sleds laden with merchandise could cross 
on them from one shore to the other. Whole squad¬ 
rons, an entire army, could not have shaken these 
granite roads. The snow had fallen so long and 
heavily in the mountains that all the gorges, were 
obstructed. It enveloped, as in a vast shroud, the 
sides of the rocks and the loftiest peaks, which 
were glittering with ice. 

Xo traveller would have had the temerity to risk 
himself on these heights in December or January. 
The mountaineers themselves, shut up in their warm 
cabins, dared not quit the chimney-corner to hunt 
the chamois, doom and solitude reigned on those 
dreary summits, where were heard only the howling 
of the wind, the crackling of the breaking ice, and 
the terrible rumbling of the avalanches rolling 




The Passage of the Alps. 427 

down the heights like crumbling mountains, to 
crash with horrible noise into the depths of the 
valleys. Vapors, mists, the darkness of these des¬ 
ert regions, added to their horrors. 

Towards the evening of one of the coldest days, a 
horseman was seen arriving at Lansleburg, accom¬ 
panied by a young woman and a little child. Cov¬ 
ered with snow, which was falling heavily in great 
flakes, they shivered and trembled. The horseman 
was followed by some armed servitors whom he had 
brought from Burgundy. Like their master and 
mistress, they were all wrapped to the ears in cloaks 
of bear or wolf skin. In spite of this, the cold had 
benumbed them to such a degree that the lady and 
her child had to be lifted from the saddle. 

They entered a little inn and warmed themselves 
at a cheerful fire, drinking warm milk, whilst pre¬ 
parations were made for the frugal supper w’hich 
was all this poor hamlet, isolated and half bnried in 
the snow, could offer. After the repast, they lay 
down around the hearth, wrapped in their cloaks. 
I^’ext morning, the knight sent for the principal 
men of the place, and asked them to send him some 
strong and vigorous young men, for that he wished 
to cross Mount Cenis and reach Susa before night. 

Neither thee, nor the mountaineers, nor the 
bears, nor the wolves,” they answered him, ''could 
sustain themselves on those heights in such weath¬ 
er as this. Howling storms sweep over the valleys 
and defiles night and day ; masses of snow and ava¬ 
lanches roll down into the abysses, carrying with 
them all that comes in their way. See yonder 


428 


The Passage of the Alps. 

those precipices filled with snow, those overloaded 
peaks, and, far above, those drifts of snow like over¬ 
hanging clouds ; dost thou believe that men could 
climb those inaccessible heights, brave the shock of 
the storm, and confront the icy darkness of those 
black vapors ? ” 

My horses,” replied the traveller, are shod for 
ice, and we shall put spikes upon our shoes.” 
‘^Well,” answered the men of Lansleburg, 
seek to gain a foothold on that granite with thy 
spikes ! . . . Thou wouldst slip more easily and 
with less delay than if thou hadst naught upon thy 
feet.” 

So much the worse ! ” said the stranger ; for, 
howsoever it be done, I must be at Susa this even¬ 
ing. I care not for expense, and he who will be 
my guide shall be liberally rewarded. ” 

This daring knight was King Henry IV., with the 
Queen and his son Conrad. Every day seemed an 
age to him which retarded his arrival in Italy, 
where he might cast himself at the feet of the Sov¬ 
ereign Pontiff, and be released from the interdict 
before the year of excommunication should have 
expired. As we have already said, Henry had left 
Spire with his family and some followers, and, so as 
not to fall into the hands of the German princes, he 
went through Burgundy. At Besan9on he received 
a cordial welcome from Count William, uncle to his 
mother, the Empress Agnes ; he spent the festival 
of Christmas there, and received from his generous 
relative money, men, and horses to continue his 
journey. Having reached the frontiers of the Count 


The Passage of the Alps, 429 

de Maurieme, he was unceremoniously informed 
that he could not pass there, unless he was willing 
to cede to the Count the vast and rich province of 
Bugey, with five bishoprics. Henry was filled with 
rage at such an exaction, but, pressed by circum¬ 
stances, was forced to consent to it. 

How to climb the lofty mountains through the 
snow, ice, and furious squalls that sweep over 
their gorges ? The King had a litter prepared for 
his wife and son, and sleds for the baggage; then 
he ventured upon those gigantic declivities, which 
he reached with great difficulty, after having lost 
several horses in the precipices. The journey was 
long and painful, but, once they had arrived on the 
summit, the mountaineers who guided the lit¬ 
tle caravan declared that if the ascent had been 
hard and difficult, the descent presented insur¬ 
mountable obstacles. 

In ascending,” said they, we could support 
ourselves by juttings of the rock, by trunks of trees, 
even by icicles; but in descending we shall have 
beneath our feet a sheet of glass, slippery roads, 
without any support, and bordering on abysses.” 

The King would not go back. The Queen, pale 
and trembling, contemplated with mortal terror 
the steep descents covered with glistening snow and 
ending in the depths of valleys. The guides lifted 
her from the litter, and wrapped her and her son 
in an ox-skiu, closed on every side by leathern straps 
and thongs; then they fastened to it two ropes, one 
of which served to draw it over the snow, whilst 
men placed behind moderated with the other the 


430 The Passage of the A/ps. 

impetuosity of the descent. Henry followed on 
foot, but was often dashed against icebergs and met 
with painful falls. 

What a sorrowful spectacle to behold a great 
king reduced to such a miserable extremity ! Poor 
virtuous princess, how much thou wert compelled 
to suffer, drawn in a leathern sack over snow-cov¬ 
ered rocks ! How far different from this journey 
were the triumphal marches of Henry IV. through 
Germany, surrounded by regal majesty, and receiv¬ 
ing the homage of the noblest and most powerful 
princes of the empire ! A fugitive, benumbed with 
cold, death ever present to his eyes, he deemed him¬ 
self fortunate to possess the compassion of a few 
mountaineers. Born to wealth and glory, Henry 
drew on himself, by his tyranny and impiety, cala¬ 
mities so great that history presents no other ex¬ 
ample of a prince so humbled by divine Provi¬ 
dence. 

Meanwhile, the news of Henry’s arrival had no 
sooner reached Lombardy than great agitation 
manifested itself in the party hostile to the reforms 
of the saintly Pope. The leaders of it wished to 
give a triumphal reception to Gregory’s bitterest 
enemy. The ambitious Gilbert had not ceased to 
be the leader of the simonists and dissolute mem¬ 
bers of the Lombard clergy ; he inflamed the hatred 
of princes, who had, in despite of all justice, seized 
on the goods of the Church and put up at auction 
prelacies and bishoprics. He hastened to send mes¬ 
sengers to all the towns and castles of the country, 
to induce the lords to make large levies of men, so 


431 


The Passage of the Alps» 

that the Emperor, on arriving in Italy, might find 
himself at the head of a powerful and devoted 
army. 

But whilst Henry was arriving in Burgundy, 
Gregory VII. had already retired to Canossa, where 
the Countess Mathilda extended royal hospitality 
to him. The first people of Italy, France, Burgun¬ 
dy, Germany, and England repaired thither to offer 
their homage to the Vicar of Jesus Christ. Ee- 
markable among these illustrious guests were the 
Marchioness Adelaide of Susa, with her son Ama¬ 
deus Azzo of Este, and the celebrated Hugh of 
Cluny,* with numerous archbishops and bishops who 
had remained faithful to the Holy Apostolic See, 
in spite of the general corruption and the dissen¬ 
sions of parties. At sight of so many princes and 
prelates assembled in the castle, the monk Doni- 
zone exclaims, in his rude verse, ^‘that Canossa 
had become another Rome.’’ 

Such wealth, splendor, and solemnity contrasted 
strangely with the mourning garb of penitents who 
flocked to Canossa from all parts of Germany, in or¬ 
der to solicit pardon from the Pope and obtain abso¬ 
lution from the censures which they had incurred, 
whether for simony, for the sacrilegious attempts 
of the Synod of Worms, or for excesses in which 
they had been partakers—sharing in the confiscated 
goods of the Church, retaining in prison the Saxon 
archbishops and prelates. These converted princes 
and bishops arrived at Carcassonne after a long and 
perilous Journey across the Germanic Alps, laid 
down the insignia of their dignity, and repaired to 


432 The Passage of the Alps, 

Canossa, clad in sackcloth., with a rope round their 
necks, and their heads covered with ashes. There 
they knelt in the porch for sinners, at the door of 
the Church of Saint Apollonius, and in a loud voice 
implored pardon for their crimes. Pope Gregory 
kindly received these repentant sinners ; but as the 
inveterate habits of sin easily govern the will, the 
Holy Father obliged the prelates to retire into a cell 
in the monastery of Oanossa, there to appease the 
divine justice by the mortification of the flesh, by 
fasting on bread and water, and by continual 
prayer. 

The expiation imposed on the princes and barons 
who came humbly to confess at the feet of the So¬ 
vereign Pontiif differed somewhat from that of the 
prelates. Certain canonical penalties were still in 
use at that time. We read in Donizone that the 
Marquis Boniface, father of Mathilda, having con¬ 
ferred some ecclesiastical dignities for money, vol¬ 
untarily submitted to be scourged, and made a vow 
to go to the Holy Land. The powerful Emperor 
•Henry III. had his bare shoulders scourged several 
times as a public expiation for his sins. The proud 
and haughty monarchs of England, Denmark, Swe¬ 
den, and Norway, after having subdued entire na¬ 
tions, are seen coming to throw themselves, contrite 
and humble, at the feet of the bishop, confessing to 
him their cruelties, and imploring of him their par¬ 
don. They publicly submitted their bare shoulders 
to the penitent’s lash. Here is, indeed, a fine 
theme for development on the severity of confessors, 
and the prayers wherewith they overload their 


433 


The Passage of the Alps. 

penitents. If things were as they ought to be, the 
road to Paradise should cease to be narrow, toil¬ 
some, thorny—such, in a word, as Jesus Christ 
depicts it. Why not a good road, broader, smooth¬ 
er, carpeted with flowers and verdure, over which 
we would proceed surrounded by delights ? Why 
not even journey over the road in a carriage, on 
good soft cushions ? Did not Vincenzo Gioberti cry 
out upon the house-tops that the penance of the 
Middle Ages could never accord with the institu¬ 
tions of civil Christianity ? If Saint Aloysius Gon- 
zaga had had the good-fortune to live in our days, 
he might have spared himself many of his disci- 
plines,fasts,and long prayers. Everything in its own 
time. At that period people imagined that to save 
one’s soul he must have recourse to all these aus¬ 
terities. What folly ! Nowadays, human specula¬ 
tions have smoothed the way; people advance with 
a light and careless step on the road to Paradise; 
they fly thither along the macadamized paths of 
civilizatiqp, and, with a little further help from pro¬ 
gress, they will go there by telegraph, which, it must 
be admitted, will be a great increase of work for 
poor Saint Peter, obliged to pull the wires from 
morning till night. Some journalists are already 
busying themselves with this troublesome position 
of Saint Peter’s; they would take away from him 
his golden keys, that the door of heaven might re¬ 
main open to every comer without porter or door¬ 
keeper ; enter who would, without check or pass¬ 
port. 

Such is, substantially, the reasoning of many of 


434 Passage of the Alps, 

our moderns. It is therefore natural enough that 
numberless historians, accustomed to measure an¬ 
tiquity by their own times, should declaim on every 
occasion against the severity of Gregory VII., wiiich 
they call cruel and fanatical. But their wrath has 
to stop there, and can only find vent in more or less 
swelling phrases. Ah ! if they could come to acts, 
and scale Paradise, where the Holy Pontiff is reign¬ 
ing in the glory of the elect, they would expel him 
thence without mercy, and efface his office from.the 
breviary and missal. 

Whilst the bishops and princes were coming to 
express their repentance to Pope Gregory at Oaiios- 
sa. King Henry had arrived at Turin, and found 
some German barons and several Lombard lords, 
who were friends of the Emperor and hostile to 
Gregory and Mathilda, rallying around him. 

Henry convoked a parliament, and frankly ex¬ 
plained to them his position. He told them that 
if he were not released from his excommunication 
before the year had elapsed, he would be irrevoca¬ 
bly deposed from all right to the crown, tie added 
that the princes of the empire, assembled at 
Treuver, in announcing to him this respite, had only 
conformed to the Germanic right registered in the 
imperial constitutions. It only remained for him, 
then, to have recourse to the clemency of the Pope. 
Immediately his counsellors urged the necessity of 
sending envoys to the Holy Father and to the 
Countess Mathilda, his cousin, to announce his 
arrival, and to seek to conciliate the good graces 
of that Princess, to whom Gregory was under so 


The Passage of the Alps, 435 

many obligations that he would refuse her no¬ 
thing. 

On seeing once more Count Pandolph, her be¬ 
loved father, Yoland had forgotten her long-con¬ 
tinued sorrows. She passed delightful hours at his 
side, talking over their past misfortunes and the 
hope of soon seeing their country again. 

^‘Ere I depart for Groningen,” said she, might 
it not be possible for me to make a visit to the Con¬ 
vent of St. Mary, to embrace my good teachers and 
receive the blessing of the Abbess Theotberga, who 
was ever a tender mother to me ? ” 

‘‘My dear child,” replied Pandolph, “that would 
be a most imprudent step. I am aware that the 
young Marquis, urged by his father and besought 
by his vassals, has promised to espouse Gisela of 
Moravia at Pentecost; nevertheless is Ottocar full 
of anger against me that I did refuse him thy 
hand, and he might therefore seek to revenge him¬ 
self. All that we can do is to testify our gratitude 
to the venerable Abbess by a letter, which will 
reach her through the Abbot Daufer or the hermit 
Manfred, to whose friendship and fidelity we are 
indebted for so many benefits.” 

On a bright and cheerful morning, enlivened by 
the rays of a winter sun, Pandolph and his daugh¬ 
ter were conversing together on their plans for the 
future, as they walked at the base of the mountains 
which extend from the fort of Canossa to that of 
Rossena. All at once they saw coming towards 
them the young Oswald of Thuringia, mounted on 
a handsome palfrey, which he managed with perfect 


43^ The Passage of the Alps. 

grace. He was a brave and amiable prince, full of 
knowledge and piety, and whose brilliant education 
and noble qualities were only surpassed by his 
modesty. He had arrived at the court of Mathilda, 
his kinswoman, about a month previous, and had 
quickly gained the esteem and affection of every 
one. As he issued from a cluster of oaks, 
Yoland, engaged in talking animatedly, did not at 
first perceive him. The young man advanced at a 
gallop, his hair flowing over his shoulders in the 
German fashion. Eecognizing Yoland and her 
father, he slackened his pace and saluted them 
respectfully. Pandolph said to his daughter : 

This young Prince would seem to me an accom¬ 
plished knight. His distinguished manners are not 
eclipsed by any of the numberless Italian, French, 
or German youths who are the ornament of Ma¬ 
thilda’s court, which contains the flower of Chris¬ 
tian gentlemen. Being thrown into his company 
on many occasions, amongst others on that of our 
journey from Lucca to Canossa, I judge him to be 
of a noble nature. He is modest, reserved, valiant, 
and endeared to me by his unfailing devotion to the 
Sovereign Pontiff. I am well persuaded that in his 
defence he would shed the last drop of his blood.” 

‘^Father,” replied Yoland, ^^thou hast judged 
aright; for the Pope loves him much and holds 
him in high esteem—to such degree, in truth, that 
but lately he told the Marquis of Este that ‘ the 
young Landgrave had shown such valor in arms 
and a heart so full of faith that he had written to 
his fatheKrin Thuringia, wishing him joy in the 


The Passage of the Alps. 437 

possession of such a son, the faithful and valiant 
champion of the Church and the empire/ ” 

‘^At which I do exceedingly rejoice,replied 
Pandolph, feigning a careless air. “ I bethink me, 
too, that Oswald has great love for music; for, whilst 
thou didst yestereve accompany the beautiful an¬ 
them of the Pope, in presence of the Marchioness of 
Susa and the Countess Mathilda, his eyes, as I 
chanced to perceive, were fixed upon thine instru¬ 
ment, as though, in truth, his heart and soul were 
hung upon thy hai'p-strings.” 

Yoland reddened. She knew not that some 
days previous the young Landgrave had asked her 
hand, and that Pandolph had held a long conference 
on this subject with Mathilda, who had taken it 
upon her to write to Oswald’s father. The young 
Prince, who admired in Yoland her elevated mind, 
united with the sweet and most gentle attributes of a 
pure and candid soul, opened his heart to Mathilda, 
without even knowing of Yoland’s high birth. But 
when the Countess had secretly confided to him 
that the young girl was the Countess of Grroningen, 
he resolved to hasten his union with so accom¬ 
plished a person. 

Mathilda had, however, forborne to speak of it 
to the young girl; but at length Pandolph arrived 
at Canossa, and then she disclosed to him Oswald’s 
intentions, which he had besought her to present 
as a formal demand, even before the lady should be 
informed of his suit. ^ 

The father and daughter continued their walk to 
the foot of the high rock which forms the base of 


438 The Passage of the Alps, 

the Castle of Eossena. They paused to contem¬ 
plate, from that height, the course of the Enza, 
whose limpid waters, winding in and out through 
the whole range of the Apennines, fertilize the 
beautiful valley of Selva Piana. It was amid 
these enchanting scenes that Petrarch, having 
built himself an elegant retreat, came to pass the 
summer in this sweet solitude beneath its refresh¬ 
ing shade. Thence could be descried the domes 
of Bismantova, with their girdle of fortified cas¬ 
tles, overlooking a vast plain, cultivated fields, 
gloomy forests, swamps, rural scenes, in which 
horses paced or the deer—in which the country 
abounded—leaped and sported. Amazed at the 
charming landscape which stretched before him, 
Pandolph wished to ascend as far as the first court¬ 
yard of Eossena, where the warriors of the Countess 
invited him to rest. 

Built by Mathilda, or perhaps by the Marquis 
Boniface, her father, the Castle of Eossena still 
exists. It stands isolated on the summit of a steep 
rock whose fianks are bordered on either side by 
precipices. The walls rise from height to height 
to the very pinnacle of the rock, and the turrets 
rise into the air, as if defying wind and storm. On 
the descent, the iron-like rock descends perpendi¬ 
cularly into a deep valley; high peaks crown its 
base, resting on narrow and irregular ledges, which 
seem to descend gradually from point to point 
down to the very bottom of the precipice. Seen 
from the torrent of Ciauello, Eossena appears like 
an inaccessible retreat, whose top is lost in the 


439 


The Passage of the Alps. 

clouds which float round it like a veil of mist. 
This is perhaps the steepest rock in all the moun¬ 
tain chains which traverse Italy. 

On the southern declivity of the rock are four 
crenelated walls, resting on projections of the rock, 
and crowned on their highest pinnacle by a square 
tower which rises upward slender and graceful. A 
door provided with a portcullis gives entrance to 
the first court, separated from the second by steps 
hewn in the rock, above which is crossed, by a draw¬ 
bridge, a deep abyss. All passages connecting one 
court with another are cut in the rock itself, and 
barricaded with portcullis, gratings, and traps, so 
that, one court being forced, an entrenchment could 
be made in a higher one. 

Above the fortifications arose the castle proper, 
the dwelling of the lord. It was divided into vast 
compartments, with halls, chambers, vaulted corri¬ 
dors, cellars, and terraces. In the time of Mathil¬ 
da, and doubtless for several centuries after, the 
apartments were still adorned and furnished with 
royal luxury, but now can be seen only its remains. 
From the four fa9ades there is a magnificent view. 
One is taken with vertigo when leaning over the 
balconies, projections, or the little gardens hanging 
over the abyss in whose depth is hidden the base 
of the mountain. Eossena is the bulwark of Canos- 
sa on the side of the Enza ; it is an impregnable 
fortress. It would be necessary to borrow the wings 
of the eagle or the hawk to dream of making an 
assault upon it or taking it by surprise. 

After having visited Eossena, Pandolph and his 


440 The Passage of the Alps, 

daughter went down from rock to rock, taking the 
road which led to Canossa. As they were ascend¬ 
ing the first heights of the latter fortress, they saw 
at some distance, but hastening in that direction, 
a numerous and brilliant troop of horsemen. Yo- 
land and her father quickened their steps, and the 
young girl went up to her apartments, the balcony 
of which gazed out on the court which the horse¬ 
men would haye to cross. They all wore light breast¬ 
plates of burnished steel, waving plumes, coats-of- 
arms of various colors, and a cloak of tissue of gold 
embroidered in azure thrown over their shoulders ; 
they rode with visor raised, followed by numerous 
esquires and pages gorgeously arrayed in their mas¬ 
ters’ colors. 

Yoland was pleased with the sight of their man¬ 
ly and warlike faces, as they passed in review, and 
the imposing train, which she soon recognized as 
being an embassy of the gi*eat barons of Germany. 
All at once her father, who was standing behind 
her, saw her turn pale, shrink back, and move trem¬ 
blingly into the centre of the room. 

‘^What aileth thee, my child ?” cried he. 

These were the ambassadors of Henry, charged 
to announce his arrival to the Pope and the Coun¬ 
tess Mathilda. The train was composed of Lom¬ 
bard and German knights who had remained faith¬ 
ful to the fortunes of the King. They bad with 
great difficulty crossed the rude valleys of Chamouni, 
of the Grisons, and of Splugen, braving the snow 
and intense cold, which continued in all its rigor. 
At length they had come into Italy, carefully avoid- 


The Passage of the Alps. 441 

ing the ambuscades whicli Guelph of Bavaria and 
Berth old of Carinthia had placed in all the passes 
of the Alps. They had rejoined Henry at Turin 
and Vercellij whence he had sent them as envoys 
to the Pope, with full confidence in their experi¬ 
ence, eloquence, and skill in the management of 
affairs. To the younger was entrusted the task of 
winning the confidence of the princes assembled at 
Canossa by their elegant manners and their cour¬ 
teous and affable demeanor. 

Seeing his daughter so agitated, Pandolph ques¬ 
tioned her closely; she answered in a feeble and 
broken voice : 

^‘Ah ! father, I recognized amongst these 
knights the author of all my misfortunes—the 
Marquis of Brunn ! ” 

Calm thyself, my child,” said Pandolph; 
^^thou wert the sport of some illusion, some fancied 
resemblance. ...” 

0 father! it is he in truth I” replied Yoland. 
‘^1 knew him readily amongst all the train; his 
esquire bears the banner of Brunn. If he has 
not perceived me, all is well; but I tremble with 
fear. ...” 

Pandolph promised her to speak of it to Bishop 
Anselm and the Abbot of Cluny. He likewise 
recommended her to apprise the Countess Mathilda 
of it, and to leave her own apartments as little as 
possible. He besought her, above all, to avoid 
manifesting the slightest emotion, and to preserve 
her customary serenity in conversing with the dam¬ 
sels and gentlemen of the court. 


44-2 The Passage of the Alps. 

Two days after this incident the bridge of the 
outer court was lowered to give passage to a horse¬ 
man followed by his esquire. He galloped down 
the road to Ciano, crossed the Enza at a little 
bridge which the frost had rendered slippery, and 
began to ascend the eminence of Varvassone, an¬ 
other of Mathilda’s domains, whose strong fortress 
defended the passage of the river. As the knight 
rode along in silence, absorbed in his own reflec¬ 
tions, the esquire spoke : 

My lord, I think, or at least it would seem to 
me, that I recognized the damsel of the Convent of 
Brunn.” 

The knight quickly raised his head with a start 
of surprise : 

Thou art a fool,” said he, pursuing his road. 

^‘Fool an it please thee,” replied the other, ^^but 
I would swear it was she ; she was looking out on 
a balcony of the palace, and watching thee atten¬ 
tively crossing the court with the other ambassa¬ 
dors. She is taller, but her features have not 
changed. I saw her a hundred times at Brunn, 
when she played in the park or courts of the con¬ 
vent.” 

^^And thinkest thou she perceived me ?” 

I cannot declare that she did, but I know that 
there was a prince beside her, with whom she con¬ 
versed familiarly. When the cavalcade was near the 
palace, she quickly drew in her head and disappear¬ 
ed.” 

. Ah ! that is wherefore the Countess despatched 
me in such haste to bear to the King the condi- 


443 


The Passage of the Alps. 

tions which the Pope imposed on him ! Well, I 
am not Ottocar of Brunn if I return not to Ca- 
nossa in other guise than that of an ambassador ! 
And, furthermore, the conditions are not accepta¬ 
ble ; the Pope, who suspects that Henry only takes 
this step under pressure of the threats of the Ger¬ 
man lords, lest he see himself deposed from the 
throne, exacts in the first place that, as a proof of 
the sincerity of his repentance, he sends him the 
crown and sceptre, and declares himself unworthy 
of the imperial power. . . . Thinkest thou that 
the pride of the Emperor will submit to such a hu¬ 
miliation ? He is even now surrounded by a num¬ 
ber of faithful princes ; he beholds the Lombards 
risen in his favor ; a powerful Italian army is ready 
to defend him. He will quit Turin, show himself 
to his troops, lead them over the Enza, march upon 
Canossa, to surprise the castle in the midst of the 
festivities, and make himself master of it in less 
time than it takes to tell it. I would climb those 
rocks, scale those haughty walls; for I would be the 
first to plant Henry’s standard on its towers. I 
would set fire to the palace, strangle the Pope and 
the old Countess who protects him, and Yoland 
would be in my power. ... I swear ...” 

‘‘ Swear not,” interrupted his esquire ; such 
oaths often fall upon the head of those who make 
them.” 

Ottocar made a gesture of anger and spurred his 
horse, taking refuge in a disdainful silence. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE TOMB OF BEATEICB. 

Last year, after leaving Lucca, where I had re¬ 
visited the cathedral church of Saint Michael, 
founded by the Countess Mathilda, and still exist¬ 
ing to-day in all its beauty as a perpetual memorial 
of her lofty and religious genius, I proceeded to 
Pisa to visit the tomb of the Countess Beatrice, mo¬ 
ther of that Princess, who was the glory of Italy. 
Beatrice, whose every faculty was placed at the ser¬ 
vice of the Holy See, who alone upheld the destiny 
of Italy in those difficult times, rests in a beautiful 
marble mausoleum, an antique masterpiece of a 
Grecian chisel. 

It was a September morning. I was walking 
under the long arches of the Campo Santo of Pisa, 
on the flags of which a glowing sun cast the dark 
shadow of long, slender pilasters which adorn the 
circumference of the enclosure. I stopped at every 
step before some beautiful picture of Giotto, Buf- 
falmacco, and other masters of the Tuscan school. 
On arriving at the cloisters in front of the entrance 
door, I perceived a large marble urn, before which 
stood a small catafalque draped in purple velvet; 
at the four corners of it were candelabras contain- 

444 







445 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 

ing lighted tapers. The keeper accompanied me. 
I asked him of what noble Pisan, lately deceased, 
were they celebrating the obsequies. 

‘‘Father,” said he, “there are no more burials 
in the Oampo Santo, but the canons of the cathe¬ 
dral are keeping the anniversary of the Countess 
Beatrice, mother of Mathilda of Canossa, who en¬ 
dowed the chapter in the eleventh century. Very 
soon now, after the Requiem Mass, they will come 
here with tapers to give the absolution.” 

“ Is it possible that after eight hundred years 
the Church of Pisa still preserves the memory of 
that lady ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly,” replied my guide. “ I am now 
old, and as long as I can remember I have seen 
every year the canons coming in procession to this 
monument to celebrate the office of the dead and a 
Solemn Mass, and drape this catafalque, as though 
Beatrice had died but yesterday.” 

I examined the beautiful basso-rilievo of the 
shrine ; it bears this rude and humble epitaph : 
“ Quamvis peccatrix, sum domna vocata Beatrix; 
in tumulo missa jaceo quae comitissa.” * 

I left the Campo Santo and entered the baptis¬ 
try, where I seated myself on a bench, and began 
to reflect on the glory which outlives, even in this 
world, the children of the Church. On the death 
of those who are dear to it, the world, even while 
it weeps, seeks the jewels, gold, objects of value, or 
lands and houses which the deceased may have left. 

* “ Though I be a sinner, my name is Lady Beatrice ; I lie 
in the tomb—I who was a countess.” 


446 The Tomb 'of Beatrice, 

It hastens to bury him, enjoy the fruits of its suc¬ 
cession, and the next day it thinks no more of him 
whom it buried the evening before. Often even it 
forgets the name of the grandfather or uncle who 
has made the fortune of the head of the family. 

It is not thus with those who enrich the Church. 
They live in her immortality. Partaking in the 
liberality and goodness of God, she renders, even 
in this world, to her benefactors the reward which 
God assures them a hundredfold in heaven. The 
mortal triumphs of the greatest monarchs pass 
away, and their magnificent tombs pass with them. 
But the names which the gratitude of the Church 
has inscribed in her golden book are effaced neither 
by the vicissitudes of time, nor political changes, nor 
the ravages of war. Often illustrious families be¬ 
come extinct, but their name is perpetuated, bril¬ 
liant and radiant, in the archives of the Church. 
Eome alone offers us a striking confirmation of 
this fact. The great and powerful houses of Cesi, 
Farnese, Ludovici, Pamphili, Peretti, are extinct. 
Nevertheless, Cardinal Cesi still lives in the Church 
of the Vallicella, Cardinal Farnese in that of the 
Gesh, Cardinal Ludovici in that of Saint Ignatius, 
Cardinal Pamphili in that of Saint Agnes and San 
Andrea at the Quirinal, and Cardinal Peretti in San 
Andrea della Valle. Every year they have a memo¬ 
rial service for them, and their names resound, liv¬ 
ing and glorious, beneath these gorgeous domes, 
the monuments of their piety. It is the same with 
hosts of others who live only by their munificence 
to the Church, while death has consigned to oh- 


447 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 

livion their relatives aud equals, oftentimes richer, 
wiser, more magnificent than those whose pious 
largesses have immortalized their memory. 

If, in place of persecuting the Church, Henry IV. 
had protected, honored, and defended it, his name 
would still to-day be as honored, as glorious, as those 
of Charlemagne and of Henry II., his holy prede¬ 
cessor. But, misled by pride and avarice, he sought 
to crush the Church with the weight of his tyranny 
and cruelty. Therefore, his name is rarely utter¬ 
ed, and never without a feeling of disgust and ab¬ 
horrence. His unhonored grave was forgotten by his 
very flatterers. If he had, at least, repented of his 
faults, the Church, that divine mother, would have 
raised him from his debasement, and placed him so 
high that the noblest kings in Christendom would 
have envied him such glory. For there is glory in 
humbling one’s self before Q-od. God is pleased to 
raise the humble to heights the most sublime, even 
to the throne of his divine majesty. David and 
Theodosius the Great acknowledged this truth; 
therefore God encircled them with immortal glory. 

The ambassadors sent to Canossa by Henry used 
all their efforts to obtain his release from the sen¬ 
tence of excommunication before the term appoint¬ 
ed by the Palatine laws and the intimation of the 
Diet. But the Pope answered that he must 
at least debate the cause with the German 
princes. ^‘I would Judge it little in conform¬ 
ity with the laws of Justice and the customs of the 
Roman Church to decide before I have heard both 
parties. The princes who accused the king at my 


448 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 


tribunal are to sit at Augsburg, wbitber they have 
invited me. Let Henry appear there, free to justify 
himself of the crimes which they impute to him, 
and I will judge his cause. No one is more anxious 
than 1 to find him innocent. I would bless Heaven, 
and all the faithful would applaud my decision.” 

The ambassadors replied that the German prin¬ 
ces, subjects of Henry, could not judge their 
master. 

They will not judge him,” replied the Pope. 
^^They accuse him of having despised the consti¬ 
tutions of the empire, and they have the right so 
to do ; for the King of the Romans is only raised 
to the throne by the suffrage of the electoral 
princes, with the approbation of the Sovereign 
Pontiff, who gave the empire of the Franks to 
Charlemagne. Hereditary thrones are not upon 
the same conditions as elective kingdoms. There 
royalty is held by nature ; here by suffrage. If the 
accusations brought against Henry be unfounded, 
glory be to God ! May Henry reign in triumph I” 

If the antagonists of the Holy See loyally took 
account of this distinction, they would not so 
often declaim, rightly or wrongly, against pontifical 
audacity, which arrogated to itself the right to de¬ 
pose kings who persisted in violating the funda¬ 
mental compact which they had sworn to observe 
at their election. 

The ambassadors, embarrassed by this irrefutable 
logic, made an appeal to the clemency of the Pope ; 
but Gregory answered very judiciously that mercy 
must give place to justice. 


449 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 

Meanwhile, the Countess Mathilda was taking an 
actiye part in these negotiations. King Henry was 
her cousin, and his Queen was the daughter of the 
Marchioness of Susa, whom she dearly loyed. 
The Abbot of Cluny had held Henry, his godson, 
at the baptismal font, and the princes and great 
barons who dwelt at Canossa could not help, in 
spite of being Catholics, loying Henry on ac¬ 
count of his chiyalrous and yaliant character. 
There Mathilda frequently yisited the Holy Father, 
recommending Henry to him, and interceding in 
his fayor. But the saints, in all their acts, neyer 
lose sight of God ; and when conscience is in ques¬ 
tion, they remain as unshaken as the rock. Hugh 
and Anselm, both holy men, united their entreaties 
to those of Mathilda. But Gregory replied by 
arguments so well founded that they could make 
no reply. 

^^Tell me, then, Hugh,’’said the Pope, ^^where¬ 
fore did Henry refuse to appear and justify him¬ 
self at the Diet ? Wherefore came he to seek me 
in Italy, when I, on the other hand, was proceed¬ 
ing to Germany ? ” 

Holy Father,” replied the Abbot of Cluny, 
“Henry has so many enemies there they would 
pitilessly oyerwhelm him.” 

“But,” responded Gregory, “did he have pity 
on the Saxons, Thuringians, and Suabians ? Be¬ 
sides, it is not true that they are all his enemies. 
Thou knowest how many princes, bishops, and 
archbishops were of his party, fayoring his ex¬ 
cesses either through negligence or interest. Kow 


450 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 


they are obliged to add their voices to those of 
Treuver, because his crimes have passed all bounds.’’ 

‘^But, your Holiness,” said xinselm, pardon 
the King’s youth, the violence of his passions, 
the evil education he received, the counsels of the 
wicked, the alluring temptations which caused him 
to fall from abyss to abyss. A tender father like 
thee will have pity on the errors of thy son.” 

^^Ay would I indeed !” replied Gregory. But 
must the eye of justice ever remain blind ? If 
clemency takes pity on the erring, justice should 
scrutinize and judge severely, in spite of prayers 
and tears. Henry regards the Church as his slave ; 
he sells her to the first wretch who offers him gold 
or silver. Glance at all the churches in Germany 
which have been vacant since his coming to the 
throne; is there a single one of them which has not 
a wolf for a pastor ? They carried them by vio¬ 
lence, and, when they could not scale the windows, 
they pierced the walls, to enter by the breach. Can 
human clemency be invoked in favor of one who 
has so audaciously despised the eternal rights of 
justice ?” 

But he crossed the Alps, humble and contrite, 
and he comes to ask thy pardon !” said Hugh and 
Anselm warmly. 

“ If he be truly repentant,” replied Gregory, let 
him send me his insignia of royalty—the sceptre 
and the crown—and confess in writing all the 
crimes which he committed against the Almighty, 
as well as his tyranny against the people of Ger¬ 
many. We shall then see what God will inspire 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 451 

us to do; for, in spite of his excesses, we have never 
ceased to regard him as our very dear son.” 

In consequence of this interview of the Abbot 
Hugh, Bishop Anselm, and the ambassadors with 
Gregory, Matliilda charged Ottocar to bear to 
Henry the response of the Pope, secretly praying 
the King in her message not to send that messenger 
again to her court. 

Whilst Ottocar was riding up the hill of Varvas- 
sone like a madman, forming a thousand plans to 
take a signal revenge for the ahron^; which Yoland 
had offered him, a mendicant tame down from 
the castle, clad in rags, and her head enveloped in 
an old woollen covering which almost entirely 
concealed her face. Her eyes, bright and pierc¬ 
ing, were fixed even at a distance upon the warrior, 
and, having attentively regarded him, she stopped 
and awaited him. 

Hail to the Lord of Brunn,” said she when he 
came near her. 

Ottocar, astonished to hear himself addressed in 
the Moravian tongue, stopped. 

What! is it thou, Swatiza ?” cried he. What 
art thou doing here ?” 

‘^My lord,” answered she, ‘^because of a little 
visit which I made to the sacristy of the Cathedral 
of Wurzburg, the bishop banished me and pro¬ 
mised a thousand marks to whoever would give 
me up, dead or alive. We had concealed all 
the gold and silver of our booty in a castle burn¬ 
ed during the war, where coiners pursued their 
trade; 


452 The Tomb of Beatrice. 

“It chanced that we kept prisoner a certain Ray¬ 
mond, an old servant of Pandoljdi, father of Yoland. 
I took pity on him. I resolved to withdraw him 
from his pitiable position, and place him in safety. 
We passed out by a subterranean passage opening 
on the valley, and Raymond, having crossed the 
stream, climbed the other bank. I watched him ; 
all at once I saw him conceal himself behind a large 
oak, and sign to me to follow him. Not knowing 
what he wished, I remained motionless. Then he 
lay down on the ground and crawled a little nearer 
to the bank, calling: ^ Save thyself, Swatiza ! Cross 
the stream and hide. There is a large detachment 
of Bavarians approaching the castle, and surround¬ 
ing it on all sides.’ At these words I rushed from 
the postern into the middle of the stream, and 
crawled into a thicket of brushwood. I rejoined 
Raymond, whom I had delivered, and who thus 
became my liberator. It seems that Duke Guelph 
of Bavaria, having learned from his spies that there 
were coiners in the old castle, fell upon them unex¬ 
pectedly, and all were arrested, as I afterwards 
learned. Their treasure was seized, and they were 
hung on the spot. Fortunately, I had gold about 
me, and it came in well during my journey. Ray¬ 
mond left me to rejoin his master at Boleslau. As 
for me, being somewhat uneasy there, I set out 
towards Italy. I crossed Lombardy, plying my 
trade, and now I am going to Canossa, whither the 
Pope’s visit has attracted numbers of people. I 
will tell them good fortunes, and may thus be 
enabled to live for some time.” 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 453 

Ottocar, who had heard this prolix history with 
much impati6nce, cut her short. 

I believe it is the demon who sends thee/’ said 
he. Knovvest thou where Yoland is ? Divine it, 
if thou canst, and I will give thee thousands.” 

At Rome, for I met her in the old castle. She 
had fallen into the hands of the coiners, and I 
helped her to escape some days before the surprise. 
She was disguised as a pilgrim, and was repairing 
to Rome, whither she must have arrived. Doubt¬ 
less she placed herself under the protection of the 
Empress Agnes, the refuge and the providence of 
all German pilgrims.” 

‘^No, she is at Canossa with the Countess 
Mathilda. Albert,” said he, addressing his esquire, 
‘^go on before, and await me at the gate of Var* 
vassone.” 

He alighted, took Swatiza by the hand, and 
said: 

Thou art not worthy of thy name if thou 
aidst me not to take revenge on this girl, who 
plays with me as though I were a lackey, and has 
made me a by-word among all the lords of the 
country. She must no longer have power to baffle 
me so cruelly. She has despised me, mocked me, 
to-day at the court of Canossa! . . . This thought 
makes her odious to me. I hate her even unto 
death, and I shall not have an hour’s rest till the 
wretch be humbled. Thou shouldst know how to 
do away with her—fire, poison, poignard, all are 
good. And if thou shouldst succeed, thou shalt no 
longer beg ; I will secure thee bread for thine old 


454 Tomb of Beatrice, 

age. Bring me to Brunn the news of her death, 
and I will give thee thy weight in gold.” 

‘‘ To Brunn ? Gramercy, good lord ! That so I 
might he thrown into the water or roasted on the 
Hungarian Square ? . . . I am not such a simple¬ 
ton ! I escaped thitlier once, and I made my part¬ 
ing how to Brunn. . . . They will not see me there 
again.” 

It matters not! Provided that thou kill her, I 
shall find means to send thee all the gold thou 
wouldst. To work, then, dear friend I If thou 
canst gain over some attendant of the Countess, 
give her a drop of those poisons that thou knowest, 
and which, mixed with food or drink, cause a slow 
hut certain death. Thou shalt have time to leave 
the country ere they have the slightest suspicion.” 

Meanwhile, Marquis, open thy purse and give 
me a good handful of gold marks on account, so 
that I can appear at Canossa without being forced 
to beg my bread.” 

Ottocar plunged his hand into his purse, and drew 
thence several pieces of gold, which he gave to the 
gypsy ; then, remounting his horse, he continued 
his journey to the King, who anxiously awaited the 
Pope’s reply. 

On her arrival at Canossa, Swatiza took lodging 
in a little inn outside the third court of the for¬ 
tress. She laid aside her rags, combed her long, jet- 
black hair, and divided it into two long tresses, ac¬ 
cording to the fashion of the gypsies. She then 
donned a tunic of taffeta which was profusely 
spangled and threaded with gold, with sleeves in 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 455 

the form of wings floating from her shoulders, and 
giving her the air of a variegated butterfly. She 
sallied forth in this garb, installed herself in the 
square, mounted on a stool, and blew on a little 
trumpet a wild and fantastic air. At this unusual 
noise the people ran thither from all parts, and en¬ 
circled the stranger, asking her what she meant by 
this strange music. Wken Swatiza saw that she 
had an attentive audience, she began to speak in 
most grotesque Sclavo-Lombard jargon. 

‘‘People of Canossa,” said she, “I come from 
Herminia, a country far from here, where the 
moon rises by day and the sun by night; where 
men have two heads, one of which looks before, 
the other behind. There women have whiskers 
like cats; in place of our steeds men are 
mounted on sea-lions as large as elephants. Gold 
is as common as stone is here, and in place of 
water the seas run wine ; there grains of wheat 
are pearls, and people are fed on bread made with 
this meal, which is perfumed and sweet as the 
breath of spring. I can tell you I have taken 
time to come hither from Herminia ; it is a seven 
years’ journey ! I have worn out two hundred and 
thirty pairs of sandals with doubi'e soles and triple 
leather. What an interminable way 1 Yet the 
fame of your valor and courtesy has spread over 
the entire world, and induced me to come hither 
to see you, to admire the grandeur of these palaces 
and the magnificence of the Countess’s court. But 
think not that I have come hither empty-handed ; 
I would show you what we do in Herminia, where 


456 The Tomb of Beatrice. 

jBre is drunk like water, where tow and hog’s 
bristles are eaten, and, being well digested or elabo¬ 
rated by the stomach, furnish entire pieces of rib¬ 
bon of the most beautiful tint.” 

The people listened and waited breathlessly. 
Swatiza took a handful of tow, which she put in 
her mouth, puffed out her cheeks, and sent out a 
kind of thick smoke, which issued from her lips in 
bluish wreaths. Soon also sparks came out of the 
smoke, and at length a long flame, bright and 
glowing. She turned to the spectators and sent in 
their faces tongues of flame, which made them draw 
back in affright. There was general consternation. 
They said: 

Behold ! one would think it the mouth of an 
oven. That creature is of iron ; her mouth is full 
of fire, smoke, and sparks. Her palate is lined with 
brass ! ” 

Whilst these comments were being made around 
her, Swatiza took from a lighted chafing-dish an 
iron spoon full of melted lead. 

After having vomited.all this flame,” said she, 

I may well be thirsty. Ye drink cold water or 
wine, but in Herminia we quench our thirst in 
melted lead. Now, then, give me a glass. . . 

And raising it in sight of all the people, she poured 
out the liquid metal, and brought it to her lips. 

No, no, do not drink ! ” cried the crowd with 
one voice. 

But the gypsy, who had -emptied the glass at a 
mouthful, rinsed her mouth and spit the marvel¬ 
lous liquid into the vessel. 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 457 

Did I not tell ye ? ” cried she. That is well 
worth a glass of cold water ! ” 

And at the same time she opened her mouth 
to show them that it remained perfectly unharmed. 
The crowd remained perfectly stupefied. 

Then Swatiza resumed : 

You haye just seen how they drink in Hermi- 
nia. I will now show you how they eat.” 

She took balls of tow, put them in her mouth, 
and began to chew with wonderful relish. The 
spectators laughe*d. She rolled her eyes and 
chewed with grotesque contortions. Sometimes 
she seemed as if about to choke, struck her chest, 
and pinched her throat; finally she swallowed the 
tow. All the assistants laughed and danced with 
joy at seeing these feats of jugglery. Then Swati¬ 
za began to wriggle and make convulsive efforts ; 
then, raising her fingers to her mouth, she pulled 
out a red ribbon. 

Behold ! she has eaten tow and draws out a 
beautiful satin ribbon. How does she perform such 
wonders ?” 

And Swatiza drew and drew, till she displayed 
thirty yards of satin of all shades—^green, yellow, 
blue, white, pink, and red. 

The enthusiasm had reached its height. The 
crowd was like a surging sea. The gypsy again 
spoke with a sprightly air and a smile on her 
lips: 

Scissors ! ” cried she. 

They were given to her, and she began to cut 
the ribbon, and, waving it in the air, she said : 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 


45 S 


‘^Come, young damsels, this is for you.” 

Many cheeks grew crimson, many heads were 
bent, and there was a long pause ; for all feared to 
be singled out by the terrible sorceress, and no one 
advanced. Then Swatiza, seeing in the crowd a 
handsome youth in the livery of the palace, called 
out to him : 

Approach, gentle page ! This ribbon is for 
thee ; thou shalt give it to Avhom thou wilt.” 

The page advanced, and, whilst Swatiza gave 
him the ribbon, she quickly whispered in his 
ear : 

Come presently to the inn ; I will tell thee thy 
fortune.” 

When Swatiza saw that all the loeople were 
amazed at her prowess, she opened a wallet which 
she wore slung over her shoulder, blew some notes 
on her horn, looked round her, and continued : 

Inhabitants of Canossa, ye are the most fortu¬ 
nate of all the nations of Western Christendom. 
Ye dwell in an impregnable fortress whose halls 
have witnessed the defeat of more than one king or 
emperor. Ye possess the most splendid court ever 
seen by men. Ye are governed by a princess who 
desires not the title of queen, and who is above the 
most illustrious empresses. Even to-day ye vene¬ 
rate within your walls the Sovereign Pontiff, who 
holds the keys of Paradise, surrounded by a bril¬ 
liant circle of cardinals, bishops, archbishops, and 
patriarchs. To honor him the greatest Christian 
princes have flocked within your walls, and your 
days are but a succession of festivals, of pomp, and 


459 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 

of triumph. Citizens of Canossa, your lot is en¬ 
vied everywhere. At Bagdad, at Golconda, at Tre- 
bizonde, in Palestine, yea, even in the Mountains 
of the Moon and the Golden Mountains, the coun¬ 
try of griffins and of dragons, ye are spoken of. I 
was, as I have told you, in Herminia, and, dazzled by 
the glory of your name, I came and I desired to 
see you. I learned the healing art from the Great 
Mogul, and I know the secrets of life and death. 
My master was the most wise (here she bowed 
her head profoundly) Caimakadenriculikan— 
a name venerated throughout the East. He 
knows the influence of the stars and the destiny of 
every man ; he knows the hidden virtues of plants, 
flowers, fruits, metals, and stones. Death dares not 
slay him ; he has already lived seven thousand sev¬ 
en hundred and seventy-seven years, and is still as 
hale and hearty as a young man. Citizens of Ca- 
nossa, this man loves me as a daughter; he has 
taught me the deep mysteries of nature, which 
has furnished me with means to compose an admi¬ 
rable powder.” 

So saying, she drew from her pouch some small 
packets filled with brick-dust. 

"^Here is the elixir of a long life. Ye must in¬ 
fuse this powder into three drops of very clear 
spring-water ; it will cure ye of headache, colic, 
vertigo, asthma, buzzing in the ear, fever, catarrh, 
and gout. In the great cities of Perettola and Mon- 
telupo, where the Sultans of Canisgatte hold their 
grand levees, I sold one of these packets for ten 
gold besants ; but they were pagans. To ye, who 


460 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 


are Christians, I will give them for a trifle. . - . 
Thirty farthings? That will be little. Twenty? That 
is nothing. . . . Ten? I am too kind. . . Well, 
yes, for ten farthings. Come, help yourselves, noble 
citizens of Canossa, for ten farthings! for ten 
farthings !” 

She had not finished speaking when a great 
crowd pressed round the gypsy, who took care not 
to let go of the precious paper before she held the 
money in her hand. Is it good for sciatica ? Ex¬ 
cellent ! Eor colic ? Splendid ! ” To be brief, she 
was relieved of all her parcels in an instant, and 
received a good sum of money. 

She entered the inn to rest a little, when the 
page came. They retired to an empty room, and 
Swatiza, having opened the young man’s hand and 
examined all the lines, said: 

Fair youth, thou hast famous luck. I read in 
thy hand happy omens. What is thy name ? ” 
Isnard,” replied the youth: 

Then, dear Isnard, take heart; and if thou 
dost assist me, I will assure thee of a generous 
reward. Tell me, hast seen in the palace a certain 
damsel of great beauty named Yoland ?” 

She has been with us for a long tinie,” re¬ 
sponded Isnard, ‘^and her beauty is nothing to her 
goodness and generosity. ... I am the godson of 
her falconer, and I can tell thee that she has not 
her equal for virtue, and our serene highness loves 
her like a daughter. It was not known for long 
whence they came; but on his way to Lucca the Pope 
met with a great lord who is the father of Yoland.” 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 461 

'^Verily!” interrupted Swatiza;/^and know 
they who he is ? ” 

He has himself told them. The Pope and the 
Countess Mathilda received him with great demon¬ 
strations as a great and valiant prince, persecuted 
by the Emperor because he defended the Holy 
Father Gregory. In short, he is named Pandolph 
of Groningen.” 

And Yoland is his daughter ? Is she as yet be¬ 
trothed to any prince 

Ah ! that is still a secret; it is whispered that 
she will one day espouse the noble Landgrave of 
Thuringia, the eldest son of the old Landgrave and 
heir to a vast principality. But it is hard to 
know.” 

^'Dost know if the betrothal has yet taken 
place ?” 

Ginevra, the sister of the young falconer Vid- 
bode, who is in the service of her most serene high¬ 
ness our mistress, knows that they^are only await¬ 
ing the letters from the old Landgrave; on their 
arrival the Pope will unite the youthful pair at the 
altar of Saint Apollonius, under the auspices of the 
Countess Mathilda and the Marquis Azzo d^Este. 
Ginevra said—in strict confidence be it understood— 
to her brother that the Emperor of Constantinople 
has already sent the wedding presents, consisting of 
several large cases of fine Indian and Persian stuffs, 
and that Yoland’s bridal train will* be the fairest 
ever seen. Orders have been sent to Venice for a 
great quantity of precious stones for crowns, dia¬ 
dems, collars, and ornaments, and the most skilful 


462 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 


workmen of Milan, Verona, and Pisa are expected, 
that the nuptials may be royally sumptuous and 
magnificent.” 

‘^All the better,” said the gypsy. ‘‘I hope to 
profit the more by it. Isnard, thou must seek to 
see the noble damsel, and say to her: ^ She who pro¬ 
mised thee, in Bavaria, to free Raymond from the 
old castle has served thee faithfully, and he is now 
at the shrine of Our Lady of Boleslau.’ Thou must 
add that I desire to see and have speech with 
her an instant, to warn her of a great danger which 
threatens her.” 

At this moment there suddenly entered a cor¬ 
poral of justice and six archers armed with halberds. 
They seized poor Swatiza without a word, put her 
in fetters, and threw her into the deepest dungeon of 
the castle. Whilst she was swallowing the melted 
lead on the square, to the great amazement of the 
crowd, some of Ottocars pages recognized and 
denounced her as the most accursed witch in 
all Germany. They also declared that she had 
come to poison the Pope or work some terrible 
spell. The people, seeing her pass in chains, said: 

“ She must be a great sorceress, for she drinks 
fire and rinses her mouth with it, and eats tow, 
which she changes to silk ribbons. Let her trial 
come off quickly; let her feel the fire.” 

There were then at Canossa many German lords, 
who related all that they knew of the thefts, strata¬ 
gems, and magic of which she was accused in Ger¬ 
many. The magistrate at once condemned her to 
the gallows. 


The Tomb of Beatrice, 


463 


At length Isnard, through the . mediation of 
Ginevra, was enabled to send her message to Yo- 
land. The young girl at once recollected her as 
being the Swatiza who had delivered her from the 
hands of the brigands. As soon as she learned 
that she had been cast into the dungeon of the 
tower, which communicated with the palace by a 
secret passage, she went down thither that evening 
and found the poor gypsy loaded with chains. At 
the sound of footsteps Swatiza was much disturbed, 
thinking that the executioner had come to strangle 
her. But hearing a sweet voice which said, ^^It is 
Yoland, my good Swatiza,’’ she began to cry. 

Aid me, my lady, I beseech thee ! Know that 
I wish to converse with thee of a secret which 
threatens thy life. The Marquis Ottocar learned 
that thou wert here through his esquire, who recog¬ 
nized thee on the balcony ; and meeting me on the 
hill of Varvassone, he promised, me a thousand 
marks of gold* if I would poison thee. Having 
reached Canossa, I amused the people with my jug¬ 
glery, drinking before their eyes melted lead, which 
was really only mercury, when I perceived Isnard, 
a page of the court, whom I charged to bear thee a 
message. My intention was to reveal the Mar¬ 
quis’s plot, in order to put thee on thy guard. I 
say not this, believe me, that I may be released 
from my chains and my life spared. ... Oh ! no. 
God is witness that I desired only to serve thee I ” 

Yoland then said, without being at all disturbed ; 

Swatiza, I thank thee for thy good-will. I will 
take every precaution not to fall into his snare. As 


464 The Tomb of Beatrice. 

for thee, take courage and hope. Yet I must warn 
thee of one thing : if the Countess Mathilda should 
show thee mercy, it is understood that thou must 
return to God. It is time that thou shouldst enter 
into thyself. Kepent sincerely of thy faults, con¬ 
fessing them with great contrition to the holy 
Abbot Hugh of Cluny, who will give thee absolu¬ 
tion. Consider, therefore, that, even if I obtain 
mercy for thee from the Countess, as I hope, I will 
not ask thy liberty if thou wilt again commence to 
do evil.'*’ 

My lady,’’ interrupted Swatiza, if thou savest 
me from the block, I swear to God and thee to lead 
a penitent life to my last day.” 

Well,” replied Yoland, ‘‘ there is on the high¬ 
est crests of the Apennines a refuge for peni¬ 
tents, where they lead a pious and solitary life. 
I will pray the Countess to find thee a place there¬ 
in.” 

Whilst Swatiza pressed Yoland’s hand with rap- 
tui’e, and kissed it, moistening it with her tears, a 
sound of footsteps was heard in the subterranean 
passage. Immediately there appeared the execu¬ 
tioner, preceded by two men bearing lighted 
torches. He held in his hand a silken cord and a 
short stick. 

What would you ?” asked Yoland. 

Eecognizing the princess, he drew back and re¬ 
plied : 

‘‘My lady, the magistrate, in order that the fes¬ 
tivities of the court be not interrupted, has decided 
that, in place of being hung, the witch should be 


The Tomb of Beatrice. 465 

strangled in her prison. I come to execute -the sen¬ 
tence.” 

Then Yoland said : 

^^Executioner, I forbid thee to touch this woman. 
Go tell the magistrate that he must appear to¬ 
morrow before the Countess Mathilda.” 



CHAPTEE XXL 

HENRY IV. AT CANOSSA. 

The mountains of Reggio were covered with a 
thick fall of snow. The winter continued intensely 
cold, and the fierce and icy winds from the north 
swept howling over the plains and elevations of 
Lombardy. The Castle of Canossa arose from the 
dazzling whiteness of the snow which lay on all the 
surrounding heights. Its stern and solitary pin¬ 
nacle and its gloomy walls made it seem, from the 
depths of the valleys, like an eagle’s nest resting on 
the summit of the rock. That steep rock was then 
the retreat of the august Vicar of Jesus Christ 
and a multitude of sovereign princes. Canossa had 
become the most brilliant metropolis in the world. 

From the high towers and long, narrow windows 
of Mathilda’s palace could be seen, on the severe 
morning of the 23 d of January, a young man ad¬ 
vancing painfully through the snow, his head bare 
and his hair in disorder, fle wore a garment of 
coarse linen, fastened at the waist with a rope, and 
walking barefoot. 

Having reached the first court, he knocked at the 
gate. The porter raised the portcullis, and led him 

into the second court; there the drawbridge was 
4 t )6 






Henry IV. at Canossa. 467 

raised above the steep edge of the moat. Open 1 ’’ 
cried the pilgrim. Just then a heavy snow was 
falling, mingled with small icicles, hard and cutting, 
which the wind drove in the traveller’s face. He 
called a second time and in a louder tone before 
the bridge was lowered. Then the heavy machine 
moved downward on its chains, but only to give 
passage to the pilgrim. Those who accompanied 
him were obliged to remain without. 

To pass from the second to the third court the 
traveller was obliged to knock repeatedly, but re¬ 
ceived no answer. He took a stone and knocked on 
the large nails of the gate, making a tremendous 
noise. At this sound a soldier, looking through a 
loop-hole, said: 

Who is there ? ” 

Open, I pray thee,” said the pilgrim ; ^‘hasten, 
ere I die of cold ! ” 

Whom dost thou seek ?” 

I seek the Pope, the Countess, and the Mar¬ 
chioness of Susa ; descend and open ! . . . ” 

I shall not descend,” replied the soldier 
roughly. Who art thou ? 

I am Henry, King of the Komans, son-in-law of 
Adelaide of Susa, and cousin of the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda, thy mistress. Come down, or I will have 
thee hung on these battlements. ” 

The soldier ran straightway to the castle to an¬ 
nounce King Henry. The Countess Mathilda has¬ 
tened at once to Pope Gregory, and, kneeling at his 
feet, said in a supplicating tone : 

‘‘Holy Father, the greatest King of Christen- 


468 Henry IV. at Canossa. 

dorn, without awaiting the result of the negotiations 
pending with his ambassadors, comes thither in 
person to prostrate himself at the feet of your Holi¬ 
ness. The soldier tells me he is there barefoot, 
clad in a coarse garment, girded with a rope, and 
with uncoYered head. And behold. Holy Father, 
the snow is falling, the icy wind howls in the moun¬ 
tain gorges, and the cold is severe and rigorous. . . . 
Have pity on this poor wanderer, who, returning to 
himself, comes to implore thy mercy.” 

‘‘ Returning to himself ! ” said the Pope. Coun¬ 
tess, thou in very truth believest not this, and it is the 
kindness of thy heart rather than the conviction of 
thy mind which inspires such words. If Henry had 
come to kneel before the Vicar of Christ in the 
splendor of his triumph, when he beheld the princes 
of Saxony and Thuringia bowed before him, when 
all Germany trembled in his presence, I could then 
have presumed on the sincerity of his repentance. 
But remember. Countess, Henry, pressed by his 
foes, has before this come to me meek as a lamb, 
accusing himself of his errors, his sacrileges, and 
his tyranny, imploring my pardon and crying loud- 
1}^ that never more would he sell bishoprics to si- 
monists. He would lend his arm to the Church, 
extirpate abuses, and reform the clergy. ^ I will 
faithfully keep my word,’ said he, ^ I ask only the 
benediction of the Holy Father, whose submissive 
and obedient child I promise to prove myself. I 
will support justice, I will govern my people with 
love and kindness !’ Thou knowest. Countess, how 
this letter filled my heart with consolation; thou 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 469 

wert witness of my paternal sentiments; thou didst 
behold how I pardoned him with my whole heart, 
how I blessed him, how I tenderly embraced the 
lost sheep. But scarcely had he received my an¬ 
swer when he fell upon the Thuringians, then upon 
the Saxons; the pride of his triumph made him 
forget his oaths and vows, and he rushed into all 
the excess of cruelty, injustice, prevarication, and 
sacrilege ; he renounced God, the Church, and all 
the virtues of a Christian monarch.” 

Holy Father,” persisted Mathilda, attribute 
this inconstancy only to youth, the force of habit, 
and the snares of the courtiers who incite him to 
evil.” 

And his criminal will ? ” 

But he has repented, done penance, and comes 
to thee imploring pardon. Grant him permission 
to prostrate himself at thy feet; absolve him with 
that hand which can open or close heaven to the 
lowliest as to the greatest, to the humble serf as to 
the monarch.” 

‘^Countess, Henry is less concerned about heaven 
than about his crown. Believe me, I, better than 
any one, know his disloyalty; an executioner who 
makes no exceptions holds the repentant man by 
the throat. It requires but a few days, .and his 
year of excommunication shall have passed; and 
if that fatal term expires before he is absolved, 
Henry, who cannot command time to stop in its 
course, knows well that he loses all right to the 
crown in virtue of the Germanic laws, and that the 
German princes, by the decrees of the imperial 


470 Henry IV. at Ca^iossa. 

constitutions, must choose another sovereign. 
Henry, who sees the thread of that swdrd of Da¬ 
mocles about to break, hastens to the Pope, and 
says : ‘ Father, save me I ’ Oh ! I would save 
him, hut legally. Tell him to present himself at 
the Diet of Augsburg, and that if he can free him¬ 
self from the accusations of the princes of the em¬ 
pire, I shall hasten to absolve and bless him. I 
shall be the first to reinstate him, and place the 
crown more firmly on his brow.” 

Seeing that it was useless to insist, Mathilda re¬ 
tired very sadly. She summoned Henry’s am¬ 
bassadors, and commanded them to find their 
master and exhort him to patience. 

During this interview, Henry, benumbed with 
cold, stood in the snow in sullen anger. Some¬ 
times he shed tears and struck his breast, im¬ 
ploring mercy. The ambassadors at length came 
down, and found their master, his head covered 
with frost and snow, and his hands stiff with cold. 
They bent the knee before the Prince, who wept 
and lamented bitterly, and exhorted him not to 
lose courage, declaring that the Countess had 
warmly interceded for him with the Pope. His 
Holiness, whilst protesting his love and respect for 
the King, had declared that he could not depart 
from the laws of equity and the order established 
in the empire, nor the usual decrees of the Koman 
Church, and that he would conform to the de¬ 
cision of Augsburg. 

There is no question either of princes or of 
Augsburg ! ” cried Henry in an angry tone. The 


471 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 

Pope is judge, but lie is also a tender father; whilst 
the German princes are but rebels and felons, 
whom I would not make my valets, far from en¬ 
during them as my judges. . . 

As he spoke he quivered in every limb with 
emotion. Pallid with cold a moment previous, his 
face was now on fire with the rage which consumed 
him. The ambassadors persuaded him to leave the 
place, and go to take some food and rest; for he 
had been fasting since the preceding day. 

!N'ext day he was again permitted to penetrate to 
the second court, but he vainly sought to enter 
Canossa. He cried aloud for pardon and mercy 
from the Pope, uttering doleful lamentations ; he 
stamped his feet on the earth, that he might not be 
.frozen on the spot, and ceased not to extend his 
arm towards the walls of the palace, beseeching 
that the gate might be opened and he permitted 
to kiss the Holy Father’s feet. Attracted by the 
noise, the inhabitants of the place flocked upon the 
ramparts, and looked over the battlements at the 
sad spectacle of a great King reduced to so mise¬ 
rable an extremity. The most knowing said : 

That is the result of intrigue! Henry has so 
often broken his word to the Pope that the Pope 
no longer believes him.” 

Some wags mocked at him, crying : 

It is the fable of the shepherd who cried with 
all his might. Wolf ! wolf ! and brought out the 
peasants, to laugh in their faces for being deceived 
by a false alarm. But when the wolf really came, 
the joker called loudly, but the peasants turned a 


472 Henry IV. at Canossa. 

deaf ear to his cries, and the wolf tore his flock to 
pieces. Now, that shepherd is the King. He has 
promised to he good a hundred times; the Pope got 
him out of trouble, and immediately the young 
gallant mocked him. Now that he is in distress, 
the Pope, with whom he has so often trifled, says : 
‘Wait till I can believe thee.’” 

At sunset the ambassadors came again to seek 
the King. They told him that all their prayers, 
entreaties, and supplications to move the Pope to 
pardon him had been useless. Gregory remained 
inflexible, and maintained that the decision could 
only be given in presence of the princes and dukes 
of Germany. 

“ Sire,” added they, “be not discouraged; hope 
is the last thing to die in us. If our minds deceive 
us not, we thought to have perceived, in the firm 
and austere face of the Pope, a ray of light which 
gave promise of the sun.” 

“Alas !no,” replied Henry. “Gregory is weary 
of me, and never will he relent and pardon me ; he 
is a hard and obstinate old man.” 

“ Say not that, sire,” replied the ambassadors. 
“ Gregory is a saint; thou hast said so thyself a 
hundred times. But saints do not allow themselves 
to be misled by arguments contrary to justice. 
What syllogisms cannot accomplish in their minds 
piety, compassion, a tear of repentance will do in 
their hearts, so gentle and so full of sweetness. 
This morning, whilst the Countess, Bishop Anselm, 
the Abbot Hugh, and Azzo d’Este were pleading 
thy cause, the Pope repeatedly fixed his gaze upon 


Henry IV, at Cayiossa, 473 

a large crucifix placed in the middle of the table, 
and at sight of the sacred wounds of our Saviour, 
a shade of paternal sadness softened the severity 
of his grave and austere countenance. He seemed 
deeply moved when the Countess said to him: 
^Holy Father, have pity on this poor prince, who 
for two days has remained barefoot at the gate in 
the snow without taking the slightest food ! ^ At 
these words the Pope raised his eyes to the crucifix, 
and, duty struggling with pity, two tears were seen 
upon his cheeks. He dismissed them, deeply af¬ 
fected, and retired to his apartments. Sire, be¬ 
lieve us, persevere in thy resolution, and thou wilt 
triumph.” 

The King left the castle and returned to the inm 
The morning of the third day, Henry, alternating 
between hope and fear, came once more to the 
castle to seek an entrance, cast himself at the Pon¬ 
tiff’s feet, and conquer, through prayers and tears, 
the mind of his judge and father. But arriving at 
the thii‘d gate, he found it closed more securely 
than ever. The silence of death reigned around. 
A heavy snow was falling in thick flakes, the cold 
was intense, the solitude gloomy and drear. From 
time to time the face of some curious person ap¬ 
peared at some loophole in the wall to gaze upon 
King Henry, hut was quickly withdrawn before the 
snow and wind. The King knocked, wept, and 
called—the gate remained closed. Then Henry, 
after waiting long, and seeing that they remained 
deaf to his supplications, despaired of his fortune, 
and began to run like a madman through the snow. 


474 Henry IV. at Canossa. 

Pindiiig the Church of St. Nicholas open, he rush' 
ed impetuously in, crossed the balustrade of the 
choir, ascended the altar steps, and, kissing the 
consecrated stone, he cried aloud : 

Altar of God, venerated relics of martyrs ! I 
come to ye, I confide in ye, I abandon myself to ye I 
I have called upon men for help, and they have 
heard me not. Now it is ye whom I invoke ! I kiss 
the altar which represents the Christ! This place 
is sacred, inviolable. Nothing shall snatch me 
from this haven of salvation ! ” 

The Abbot of Cluny, attracted by his cries, came 
thither. Perceiving him, Henry, remaining at the 
altar, exclaimed : 

Hugh, save me ! Go tell the Pope that the 
King of the Eomans is at St. Nicholas’, embracing 
the altar. The altar is Christ, and he will not re¬ 
pulse me. . . . The Pope is his Yicar. Let him, 
then, have pity on me ; let him deign to receive 
my repentance and give me absolution.” 

The venerable abbot endeavored to calm his agi¬ 
tation, and, seeing him somewhat quieted, he said: 

My son, thou hast so many times deceived the 
Sovereign Pontiff that he cannot decide to believe 
in the sincerity of thy sorrow.” 

I swear that I repent from the bottom of my 
heart! ” said the King. Go, be the surety of my 
words; swear for me and answer to the Pope for 
my fidelity.” 

cannot, sire,” replied Hugh; ‘‘our monastic 
rule forbids it. . . . But if thou desirest a good 
voucher, ask thy cousin Mathilda to answer for 


47S 


Henry IV, at Canossa, 

thee ; she will willingly do so. And thou wouldst 
not believe what influence she has with the Pope. 
She holds, so to say, the key to his heart. She is 
thine only hope.” 

Henry turned beseechingly to Hugh. 

Be it so,” said he. Venerable Abbot, thou who 
didst hold me at the baptismal font, obtain, I be¬ 
seech thee, that the Countess may come to me and 
compassionate my condition, that, by her media¬ 
tion, I be permitted to have speech with the Pope. 
Thou didst make me a Christian, opening the gates 
of the Church by baptism ; it is to thee that I shall 
again owe my return to the Communion of Saints, 
from which I am excluded by my crimes !” 

Profoundly touched by these words, Hugh, weep¬ 
ing, embraced the hapless King, and quitted the 
church to find the Countess Mathilda. Seeing the 
holy religious so deeply afflicted, and learning the 
cause of his sorrow, the noble lady went out of the 
palace and repaired to the church, where Henry 
still clung to the altar. At sight of her his cour¬ 
age was renewed ; he went to meet her, and, kneel¬ 
ing, affectionately took her hand, which he bathed 
with tears, and, raising his eyes to his cousin, ex¬ 
claimed : 

Madame ! I will not release thy hand till thou 
hast promised to intercede for me with the Sove¬ 
reign Pontiff.” 

Ever noble, affable, and generous, the Countess 
was pained at sight of the King, so humbled at her 
feet; she said tenderly : 

Koble cousin, arise, for I cannot see thee re- 


4/6 Henry IV, at Canossa. 

duced to such an extremity. ... I will seek the 
Pope ; I will cast myself at his feet, and shall not 
arise until I have obtained thy pardon. Believe, 
however, that it is not through hardness of heai-t 
that the Holy Pontiff hesitates so long to pardon 
thee ; his conscience cannot rest in so doing when 
he recalls so many violations of thy word.” 

Cousin,” cried the King, arising, I place my 
hand on my forehead, mouth, and breast, and 
swear by my thoughts, words, and heart that my 
promise shall be henceforth sacred and inviolable. 
Do thou he my surety, with Adelaide of Susa and 
Azzo d’Este. Let the Pope demand any condition 
whatever that he may deign to impose on me; I shall 
obey him. He is my father; I shall he to him a 
most submissive son. Assure him of my sincere 
and hearty repentance. Tell him he shall never 
have cause to regret his clemency ! ” 

Having returned to the castle, the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda went to the holy Pope Gregory. She spoke 
so eloquently and shed so many tears, with her face 
bowed to the earth, that the Holy Father said, 
raising her kindly: 

God grant. Countess, that I do not pass in thy 
eyes and in those of all Christendom for an impla¬ 
cable man ! Still, with the same certainty which 
I have felt in maintaining the divine authority of 
the Church, I predict to thee that thou, I, and the 
whole empire shall have cause to repent of this par¬ 
don and regret it.” 

Then came the Marchioness of Susa, Azzo d’Este, 
and several Italian and German princes who had 


477 


Henry IV. at Canossa, 

offered themselves to be Henry’s sureties. But 
the Pope, who confounded not mercy with justice, 
said : 

I pardon Henry, on condition that he present 
himself at the Diet of Augsburg, whither I expect 
to appear; that he promise to me and to my prelates 
a free passage and protection from all violence 
through G-ermany. If he be acknowledged inno¬ 
cent and permitted to resume the sceptre, he must 
promise to amend his evil course, and to reign as a 
Christian monarch, pardoning offences.” 

Mathilda and the princes who had been his se¬ 
curity immediately proceeded to inform him of the 
happy event. Henry swore before a notary and in 
their presence to observe the conditions required 
by the Pope. Then he was conducted with great 
joy to the Sovereign Pontiff. He knelt at his feet 
and renewed, in presence of the assembled princes 
and barons, the promises which he had sworn. 
Then Gregory, standing before his throne, with 
hands and eyes raised to heaven, gave him absolu¬ 
tion from all bonds of excommunication or inter¬ 
dict ; and, bending towards Henry in a paternal 
manner, raised him, threw his arms round his neck, 
kissed him on the forehead, and blessed him. He 
then received from Henry the kiss of peace. 

The morning following, January 26 , the whole 
court repaired with Henry to the church, where the 
Pope, surrounded by his prelates, celebrated the 
sacred mysteries. The people flocked thither in 
crowds. Henry stood in the centre of the chancel, 
between Mathilda and Adelaide; behind them 


478 Henry IV. at Canossa. 

crowded Italian and foreign princes, with their 
lords and vassals. The most religious silence was 
observed by the crowd, whpse gaze was eagerly fixed 
upon the King and the Pope. When Gregory had 
reached the Communion, and was about to repeat 
the Domine, non sum dignus,”* amid the pro¬ 
found recollection of the crowd during the august 
ceremony, he took in his hand a portion of the con¬ 
secrated Host, and, turning to Henry, the princes, 
and people, spoke thus : 

‘^Behold the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
Son of the Almighty God, who came down on earth 
to propitiate the justice of his Eternal Father, of¬ 
fended by the sins of men. 0 Jesus ! I am thy 
Vicar in this world, and I hold thee in my hand. 

. . . Deign to hear my voice. I, Gregory, am ac¬ 
cused by Henry and his partisans of the horrible 
crime of having usurped by violence and by simony 
the Chair of Peter, thine apostle ; they declare me 
to be a violator of thy holy laws, a blasphemer, a 
robber, an assassin, and a magician ! 0 Christ I 
judge of the living and the dead, I swear by thy 
Body and by thy Blood, by thy soul and by thy 
divinity, that I am innocent of these crimes. If I 
lie in thy presence, strike me with sudden death 
at the moment when 1 receive thee ; if I am inno¬ 
cent, render me testimony in face of thy Church, 
whose Chief and Sovereign Pontiff thou hast elected 
me ! ’’ 

So saying, he raised the Sacred Host, made the 


* Lord, I am not worthy. 


479 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 

sign of the cross, still turned towards the people, 
and said : ‘^Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Ohristicus- 
todiat animam meam in yitam aeternam then he 
communicated, made liis adoration silently, and the 
people, raising their eyes, saw his serene counte¬ 
nance reflecting a supernatural joy. Then a deep 
emotion seized upon the whole assembly, and, joy 
breaking forth from all hearts, a great shout re¬ 
echoed through the arches of the temple as from 
one voice : 

Long live Gregory, our Pope! The Lord has 
proclaimed his innocence. ... Be he blessed a 
thousand times, in heaven and on earth I God has 
glorified his Vicar ! Long live Gregory, our Pope !” 

When the holy enthusiasm of the princes and 
people had subsided, the Sovereign Pontiff took 
the other portion of the Host, and, turning again 
towards the faithful, he raised it, saying: 

Henry of Franconia, advance ! Approach the 
foot of the altar, and, in thy turn, swear before 
God that thou art innocent of the crimes of which 
thou art accused by the vassals of the Church, the 
divine spouse of Christ. Here is his Sacred Body; 
receive it, and say freely : ^ My Lord and my God ! 
if I be'guilty of the crimes which are imputed to 
me, strike me with sudden death at the moment 
when thou dost enter my heart I ’ ” 

Henry, who did not expect this appeal to the 
judgment of God, grew pale, and, trembling in 
every limb, retired terror-stricken into a neighbor- 

* The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve my soul to 
everlasting life. 



48 o 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 


ing chapel to consult with his friends. Then, re¬ 
suming his place in the middle of the church, and 
addressing the Pope, he said : 

‘^Holy Father, if I took this oath in the absence 
of the G-erman princes and bishops who have ac¬ 
cused me to thee, I might, in their eyes, pass for 
an impostor and a perjurer; allow me to defer this 
solemn act until the Diet of Augsburg.” 

The Pope, with the gentle wisdom of the saints, 
seemed to agree with Henry’s reasoning. On his 
return to the palace after Mass, he invited the 
King to his table, where he conversed graciously 
with him, as well as with the Countess and other 
princely guests assembled to celebrate the joyful 
event. After dinner, Gregory retired to his apart¬ 
ments with Henry, where they held together a long 
interview. He exhorted him to live in a manner 
which would render him dear to G-od, to the 
Church, and to the people whom Providence had 
appointed him to govern. He pointed out to him 
the peace of heart which he would thus obtain, the 
glory which would crown his brow, the eternal 
happiness which he would secure for himself in 
heaven. Henry appeared deeply moved by these 
words. He kissed with great warmth the hand 
which had blessed him, knelt down, and took leave 
of the Pope. The Pope again embraced him, and 
before parting granted him a second time his bene¬ 
diction. The same day Henry, followed by his 
partisans and ambassadors, set out for Keggio. 

In the meantime, the Countess Mathilda having 
received the reply of the Landgrave of Thuringia, 


Henry IV, at Canossa. 481 

consenting to the marriage of his son with Yoland 
of Groningen, the whole court was given up to re¬ 
joicing. Now, as Count Pandolph was obliged to 
rejoin the King, the nuptials were to be solemnized 
on the day following these events. The Pope per¬ 
formed the ceremony at the altar of St. Apollonius, 
in presence of Pandolph and the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda, who took the place of Yoland’s mother. 
The Marchioness Adelaide of Susa placed the nup¬ 
tial crown on the forehead of the bride, who had 
for knights of honor the young Amadeus of Savoy 
and the Marquis Azzo d’Este, and for witnesses the 
greatest lords of Germany, Italy, France, and Bur¬ 
gundy. 

Magnificent presents were offered to the new- 
made wife ; splendid feasts were also given, worthy 
of the great and powerful Princess who assumed 
the place of her mother. 

Pandolph, charged with the Pope’s instructions. 
Would not delay his departure. The day following 
the marriage, he embraced Yoland and her hus¬ 
band, left them in the midst of rejoicings and 
nuptial feasts, and rode away from Canossa. As 
he rode along, he pondered on the painful way 
through which the Lord had led Yoland to the 
crown of Thuringia, that the holy hermit Manfred 
had predicted for her in her infancy. His heart 
filled with joy; he blessed Providence, whose ad¬ 
mirable decrees had brought Yoland’s long sorrow 
unto so happy a conclusion. But the Count’s hap¬ 
piness was disturbed by grave and anxious re¬ 
flections on Henry’s too well known deceit and du- 


482 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 


plicity ; he feared new evils for the Church and 
great agitations in the empire. 

On reaching Eeggio, he found that the King had 
left for Parma the evening previous. He did not 
stop, but followed the steps of the monarch, to de¬ 
feat, if possible, the criminal designs of Gilbert, 
who had become the standard-bearer of the Lom¬ 
bard princes hostile to the Pope, of simonist bishops 
and dissolute clergy, all of whom feared being ob¬ 
liged to return to their duty by restoring to the 
Church what they had taken from her, and leaving 
the episcopal sees which they had so dearly bought. 

Pandolph no sooner reached Parma than he ap¬ 
peared before the King; he found him gloomy, 
taciturn, and anxious. He received with a bitter 
smile the greetings and congratulations of the Pope 
and the Countess, and said, suddenly changing the 
subject : 

Thou wert at the wedding, my dear Count; 
I offer thee my compliments upon it.” 

Then, addressing the young Marquis of Brunn, 
who was among the lords : 

^‘It is a pity, my poor Ottocar, that they 
thought not of making thee a knight of honor. 
But it matters not; I am preparing my wedding- 
gifts, and thou shalt offer them, from me, to the 
young Landgravine.” 

‘‘ Sire, thy gifts are precious,” replied Ottocar, 
with an ill-repressed shudder ; but I flatter my¬ 
self that mine will be longer remembered.” 

As he spoke, he cast a side glance at Pandolph. 
Just then the Archbishop Gilbert appeared before 


Henry IV, at Canossa, 483 

the King, and said in a humble and obsequious 
tone : 

Invincible King, all the Lombard princes, bi¬ 
shops, and warriors refuse thee their homage. They 
cannot consent to honor as the first monarch of 
Western Christendom one who has trampled under 
foot the royal crown and its dignity before the Anti- 
Pope Gregory. Appear not before the Lombard 
cities, for they will close their gates upon thee. 
Count not on the brave soldiers who have already 
tarnished their armor and broken their swords to 
exterminate the monster which ravages Eome and 
the world. . . . Ko, they shall no more take lance 
and shield to defend a King who has so shamefully 
degraded himself before that haughty priest.” 

It was easy for those who surrounded the King 
to conceive that Gilbert had fomented these dissen¬ 
sions only to frighten Henry and induce him to 
give up his good resolutions, if he had really taken 
any, or to force him to throw oS the mask, if he 
had sworn to the Pope an obedience which his heart 
denied. Gilbert wished to draw Henry into mak¬ 
ing open war upon Gregory, that he might finally 
usurp the pontificate, which he had coveted for so 
many years. The good had a lively horror of this 
impious and ambitious wretch. The wicked applaud¬ 
ed him with heart and voice ; they offered him their 
aid, and promised him a speedy triumph. 

Two days after these events, Henry entered, 
early in the morning, the hall wherein the princes 
were assembled; his countenance was joyful and 
unclouded. 


484 Henry IV. at Canossa. 

lords,” said lie in a cheerful tone, ''the 
day is fine and the sun radiant. Mount your horses 
before one o’clock. I propose to pay a visit to the 
Pope and my relative, who are making an excursion 
to the Manor of Bianello. Riding quickly, we shall 
reach there before dinner. Thou, Marquis Ottocar, 
shalt not accompany us ; I would charge thee with 
a mission to the city.” 

All regarded each other with astonishment; they 
understood not why the King had so rapidly 
changed his mind. The evening previous he was 
strongly disinclined towards Gregory; to-day he 
spoke of going to visit him, of repeating to him his 
promises of obedience and devotion. When all the 
knights were ready, Henry mounted his horse and 
slackened not his pace till he reached the gates of 
Bianello. Gregory and the Countess Mathilda had 
really come thither from Canossa. They warmly 
welcomed the King. After dinner, the King took 
his hosts apart into an adjoining hall, and said : 

" Holy Father, each day I am happier because 
of the peace which I so long and painfully sought. 
I bless and thank God and your Holiness, who 
has received me with such goodness beneath the 
wing of his mercy I Though I have thereby drawn 
on myself the resentment of many Lombard prin¬ 
ces and chiefs, by preferring my conscience to royal 
greatness, and the glory of the Church, our mother, 
to personal interest, I cannot but feel infinitely 
happy in thy friendship, which I place above all 
earthly goods. Yet do I think it advisable that 
the Lombard princes see thee, hear thee, receive 


485 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 

from thy mouth the words of eternal life and at the 
same time thine apostolic benediction. I therefore 
come to entreat your Holiness, as well as mine 
honored cousin, to deign to visit the army of Lom¬ 
bard warriors encamped beyond the Po, in the 
territory of Bressello. There we shall stipulate in 
their presence the articles of peace; they shall see 
with how much justice thou hast dictated them. As 
for me, I shall consider it a filial duty to accept 
them and submit to them as a docile son, for the 
repose of my conscience and the peace of the 
Christian world. Thou, Mathilda, who wert the 
happy mediatrix of my happiness—thou canst then 
enjoy the sweet consolation of seeing thine under¬ 
taking crowned with full success. Now will I 
retire; endeavor to bring us the Holy Father the 
day after to-morrow. Deign to bless thy son 
Henry. . . 

The Pope, touched by these words, blessed the 
King and promised to visit the camp. 

Two days after, the Sovereign Pontiff and the 
Countess Mathilda, in company with prelates, 
princes, and barons, rode, escorted by a small de¬ 
tachment, in the direction of Bressello, where they 
were to cross the Po. They were at a short dis¬ 
tance from the river, conversing of Henry’s good 
dispositions, when they suddenly perceived a war¬ 
rior coming towards them in great haste, who stop¬ 
ped breathless, and cried: 

‘^Holy Father ! go not one step further! . . . I 
am Pandolph,” and he raised his visor ; thanks 
be to Gf-od, I escaped the ambushes of the King, 


486 Henry IV. at Canossa, 

and came to warn thee. ... I have learned 
that Henry, returning to his former habit of 
perjury, has collected thy deadliest enemies, 
amongst whom is the traitor Gilbert, who ceases 
not to stir up, in all hearts, hatred and anger 
against thee. The intriguers held counsel last 
night in the King’s tent, and Henry formed the 
criminal design of seizing upon thy person and on 
that of the Countess, to cast ye into dungeons, and 
leave ye there to perish, where none might suspect 
the tomb wherein ye were buried alive. To attain 
his ends Henry has placed two formidable ambus¬ 
cades of Lombard warriors, who were to fall upon 
thee on thy way and drag thee to his tent. Mean¬ 
time, a portion of his army will march upon Ca¬ 
nossa to surprise that fortress, and the remainder 
will repair to Eome, where Gilbert, proclaimed 
Pope, will make fearful carnage among the prelates 
and people most devoted to your Holiness. Holy 
Father, lose not an instant; return in all haste to 
Canossa.” 

At this news Gregory and the Countess retraced 
their steps. Mathilda had the guards strengthen¬ 
ed, the bridges raised, the gates barricaded, at the 
same time sending orders to all the neighboring 
fortresses to put themselves in readiness to repulse 
an assault. Kot content with providing provisions 
for the castle, which the armies of Henry might seek 
in vain to reduce, she took a great resolution. To 
prevent him from ever having possession of it, she 
restored it to God, who had bestowed it upon her, 
as she humbly confessed, always writing at the hot- 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 487 

tom of all public documents of her reign this ad¬ 
mirable formula : Mathildes Dei gratia si quid est.^ 
She presented herself in the apartments of the Pope, 
and said, kneeling before him: 

‘^Holy Father, Vicar of God upon earth, hence¬ 
forth I give, bequeath, and dedicate for ever all my 
Italian States to St. Peter, Prince of Apostles, to the 
Eoman Church, to thee, august successor of Peter ; 
and, to render this donation valid, here is the solemn 
and authentic act, drawn up by the hand of my 
notary in presence of the Grand Master of the Apos¬ 
tolic Chancery, and of foreign princes and lords.’’ 

At such munificence and magnanimity Gregory 
raised his eyes to heaven and exclaimed : 

Mathilda, God and St. Peter accept thy gift I 
The princes of the earth shall dispute thy heritage. 
They shall place a rapacious hand upon it, and seek 
to snatch it from God and St. Peter; they shall 
possess themselves of a large portion of it, but there 
will yet remain enough that the Church may 
inscribe thy name in the rank of her most generous 
benefactors ! On my return to Eome I shall lay 
thine offering on the tomb of St. Peter. God is my 
witness that I tried every means, with sincere and 
paternal interest, to bring back Henry to the fold. 
That cruel wolf will pursue me even to the rock of 
the Vatican; he will seek to expel me from the 
chair of Peter, to place therein the Anti-Pope 
Gilbert. Alas ! through Henry and through him 
Eome shall see her streets overflowing with the 


* Mathilda, who is what she is by the grace of God. 


488 


Henry IV. at Canossa. 


blood of the friends of God ! Fire will consume 
the seven hills ^ the plains shall be covered with 
ruins. But amid plains to-day uncultivated I be¬ 
hold a new Eome which shall raise to heaven 
gorgeous temples and magnificent palaces. God 
wills that I see these ruins and this carnage, from 
which his powerful hand shall save me, and I shall 
go to die in exile beside the tomb of St. Matthew, 
apostle and evangelist. Thou, O Countess ! shalt 
sustain a long and cruel war for thy fidelity to the 
Church and because of thy munificence. Henry 
will fall upon thee at the head of German armies; 
he will despoil thee of the fairest portion of thy 
domains. But fear not I God shall be with thee ! 
The Italian arms shall cause thee to triumph. ... 0 
fields of Sorbara ! 0 rocks of Monteveglio ! I be¬ 
hold crushed at thy feet the arrogance of this 
oppressor of the Church ! And thou, invincible 
fortress of Can ossa—thou who receivest me to-day 
with such pomp—^from the height of thy towers 
thou shalt be witness of the defeat and rout of 
Henry, who shall see the imperial standard hung 
for ever in the noblest of thy temples as a pei’petual 
trophy of his defeat.’^ 

Gregory ceased, extended his hand over Mathilda, 
and blessed her* 



CHAPTER XXIL 

THE METKOPOLIS OF MODENA. 

The Metropolitan Church of Modena, begun in 
the eleventh century by Lanfranc, is built in the 
Roman style, 'whose characteristic is the rounded 
arch. In some of its parts, however, it resembles 
the Gothic type. This vast and sumptuous edifice 
of white marble is adorned on the exterior, over the 
windows, by a balustrade of light pillars support¬ 
ing arches of rare elegance. The entrance is sur¬ 
mounted by a massive pulpit, whence the bishop 
blesses the people. It is upheld by twisted columns 
cut out of a single block of marble, on whose base 
rest two winged griffins, with their claws buried in 
the flanks of a hind. 

Following an arrangement common to all the an¬ 
cient basilicas, the interior is composed of three large 
naves; the chancel occupies about one-third of their 
length, and is reached by two colossal stairways 
with graceful balustrades. From this elevation 
there is a descent into subterranean crypts sup¬ 
ported by a forest of marble columns. There stands 
the altar which covers the venerated relics of the 
illustrious Saint Geminian, patron of Modena. 
Night and day lighted lamps burn in the sacred 




490 The Metropolis of Mode^ta. 

enclosure, always frequented by the pious inhabi¬ 
tants, who never invoke in vain their holy patron. 
Behind the chancel rises the celebrated tower of 
white marble, surmounted by a slender steeple. It 
is one of the finest monuments of the Middle 
Ages. 

In the spring of the year 1106 , this magnificent 
cathedral was beautifully decorated for a festival. 
Immense draperies of scarlet silk covered the walls, 
which did not then wear, as now, the solemn hue of 
ages. The ceilings of the crypts blazed with a 
thousand lights; lamps hung from the arches of 
the church and shed around fioods of light; the 
ground, strewn with fiowers and roses, was covered 
with splendid Eastern carpets. The carvings of 
the grand nave and long lateral windows shed 
through theii’ colored glass a light so dim that the 
lamps illumined the dusk of a misty twilight. An 
immense crowd, gathered from all the surrounding 
country, crowded the streets and public squares. 
Modena was celebrating on that day the most bril¬ 
liant festival which it had ever witnessed. The So¬ 
vereign Pontiff, Pascal III., surrounded by a crowd 
of cardinals and prelates, had just made his en¬ 
trance to the city with the Archbishop of Eavenna, 
and followed by all the bishops of the metropolis, 
abbots of the most noted monasteries in the coun¬ 
try, and the most eminent members of the clergy. 
A brilliant concourse of princes and lords from all 
the provinces of Tuscany, of Lombardy, and of 
Amelia had assembled at Modena. The Countess 
Mathilda had at length come to offer homage 


The Metropolis of Modena, 491 

to olie Pope at the head of a numerous band of 
warriors. 

The basilica of Saint Geminian was almost fin¬ 
ished. Dudo, Bishop of Modena, together with 
the clergy and citizens, were availing themselves of 
this solemnity to effect the translation of the relics 
of the holy patron of the city, and place them with 
great pomp beneath the altar of the new temple 
erected in his name. When the ancient monument 
was opened, and the body was found perfectly in¬ 
tact, the people’s exclamations of joy resounded 
through the air. The relics were transported in 
procession, among thousands of tapers, to the new 
shrine, where they were laid, wrapped in costly and 
magnificent tissue, the gift of the Countess Ma¬ 
thilda. 

The great lady of Italy, as she is called in the old 
chapter-book of Modena, wore that day a magnifi¬ 
cent train robe of red silk, and over it a green man¬ 
tle falling to her feet. She held in her hand an 
azure sceptre terminating in a large golden apple ; 
she wore the ducal bonnet on her head, surmount¬ 
ed by a crown of precious stones. She stood near 
the shrine, with Bonsignore, Bishop of Keggio, 
Dudo, Bishop of Modena, and Lanfranc, the archi¬ 
tect. Surrounded by her gorgeous court and her 
warriors, she awaited the coming of Pope Pascal, 
who, with his cardinals, bishops, abbots, and clergy, 
was to consecrate the altar and give the apostolic 
benediction to the people. 

The beholder might read on Mathilda’s face, full 
of joy and fervor, a sweet mingling of emotions, 


492 The Metropolis of Mode^ia, 

overflowing from her heart and reflected in her 
looks, tenderly bent on her illustrious father and 
protector. At once humble and Joyous, she 
thanked Him who had realized in a manner so re¬ 
splendent the promises made to her at Canossa, in 
a prophetic ecstasy, by the great Pontiff Gregory, 
the sublime pillar of the Church, the indefatigable 
adversary of the enemies of the Holy See. Can 
there be found in all history, I will not say a wo¬ 
man, but a generous and noble-hearted emperor, 
who would have resisted the enemies of the faith 
with more constancy and firmness than this mag¬ 
nanimous heroine, braving the formidable armies 
of the Emperor Henry ? What threats, what vio¬ 
lence, what persecution, did not the Emperor em¬ 
ploy to withdraw her from this inviolable devotion 
to the Holy See, which was the life and soul of all her 
enterprises ! The whole West trembled and hurled 
at her the bitterest and most furious denunciations, 
but she remained unshaken. She beheld the finest 
and most populous cities of her vast dominions 
sacked and laid waste, yet she ceased not to defend 
the Church. The most powerful fortresses w^re 
carried by assault, razed, dismantled, leaving her 
only that of Canossa and some others in the coun¬ 
tries of Modena and Keggio ; yet she did not lose 
courage. The Emperor offered her the restitution 
of her states if she would recognize the Anti-Pope 
Gilbert. She answered, with a noble intrepidity, 
that if nothing was left to her but her breast with 
which to defend the rights of the Pope, she would 
expose it to the lances and swords of the German 


493 


The Metropolis of Modena, 

army, desiring to sustain till death the honor and 
authority of the See of Peter. And with undaunt¬ 
ed courage she opposed all the efforts of the wicked 
conspirators, and came forth triumphant from these 
terrible combats. 

Henry IV., after the oaths and promises which 
he had sworn to Gregory at the castle of Oanossa; 
after having been relieved from his interdict and 
received the kiss of peace and the apostolic bene¬ 
diction of the Vicar of Jesus Christ, formed a hor¬ 
rible plot to seize upon the Pope and the Countess 
Mathilda. Seeing his treason discovered, he gave 
rein to all his fury, threw off the mask, and, in the 
face of Christendom, declared deadly war against 
the holy Pope. He began by imprisoning his le¬ 
gates, Gerard, Cardinal of Ostia, and Anselm, Bi¬ 
shop of Lucca. Then Gregoiy, seeing the road to 
Germany closed against him, sent to the Diet 
princes who awaited at Porchheim another legation, 
composed of Cardinal Bernard and the Abbot of 
Marsiglia, charged to make known to the bishops 
and magnates on what conditions he had relieved 
Henry from the excommunication, and the manner 
in which, a traitor to his oaths, he had once more re¬ 
volted against the Church. 

The Diet elected as the new King of Germany 
the valiant Eudolph of Suabia, who, raising a nu¬ 
merous army, made it a duty to reorganize the em¬ 
pire and deliver the Holy Father from the oppres¬ 
sion of Henry. 

At the news of this election Henry left Italy, 
entered Germany with all his forces, and began a 


494 Metropolis of Modena. 

long struggle, which lasted, with various alterna¬ 
tions of success and reverses, till Rudolph, already 
a conqueror, and pursuing the fugitives in the 
marshes of Grone, fell mortally wounded by the 
stroke of a lance. Still more irritated against the 
Pope, Henry had no mercy on the places which he 
took by force of arms. He committed atrocious 
cruelties, expelled from their sees the partisans of 
Gregory, sold abbeys, churches, and benefices ; he 
imprisoned, tortured, and massacred priests and 
abbots. Not content with these excesses, and desir¬ 
ing at any cost to dethrone Gregory, he assembled 
at Bressano a synod of excommunicated bishops, 
deposed the true Pope, and replaced him by the im¬ 
pious Gilbert, who took the name of Clement III. 

Such was the commencement of the great schism 
which desolated the Church of Germany and Italy, 
in which all the princes and bishops espoused Gil¬ 
bert’s cause. Henry, followed by the Anti-Pope, 
whom he wished to conduct to Rome in triumph 
and enthrone him at the Vatican, descended the 
Alps and entered the plains of Lombardy without 
the slightest opposition. Mathilda alone watched 
all his movements. Entrenched in the most inac¬ 
cessible fortresses, she firmly repelled the invasion 
of the haughty tyrant, who had hoped to accom¬ 
plish her entire defeat. Although he had under 
his command, besides the German armies, the 
w’hole forces of Lombardy and the other schis¬ 
matic provinces, never,” says Donizone, could 
King Henry vanquish the Countess nor force her 
to retreat a step.” 


The Metropolis of Modena, 495 

Beside himself with rage and malice, he marched 
upon Eome. Having reached Serchio, Henry 
learned that some canons of high birth had sown 
dissension in the chapter. He took pains to fan 
the flame, and caused the whole town to rise 
against the holy Bishop Anselm, who was banished. 
After this odious action, which he knew would af¬ 
flict the Church and Mathilda, he advanced towards 
Florence. This city, which had remained faithful 
to Grod and the Countess, closed its gates against 
him. He only took it after a very long siege; 
thence he continued his march towards Rome, 
where he encamped in the Gardens of Nero, near 
the Vatican. Gregory, with the Roman militia, 
reinforced by auxiliary troops which Mathilda had 
sent him, made a vigorous resistance. Summer 
came, bringing with it malignant fevers and pes¬ 
tilential miasmas, which made great ravages in the 
German army. Henry was compelled to raise the 
siege. He returned in the spring of the follow¬ 
ing year, took possession of a part of Rome, and 
proclaimed as Pope the impious Gilbert, who, on 
his part, had illegally and sacrilegiously proclaimed 
him Emperor. 

In the midst of these agitations Mathilda sus¬ 
tained the Catholic cause with an undaunted heart, 
exhausting her treasures in assisting all the exiled 
bishops, priests, and lords who were banished and 
despoiled by the schismatics. All Italy was con¬ 
vulsed. There was no province in which they had 
not to deplore the disasters of war or the conten¬ 
tion of parties, which stirred up bitter contests 


4g6 The Metropolis of Modena. 

betwen the citizens. The whole of schismatic 
Lombardy was in arms against Mathilda. Aubert, 
who headed this league, had expelled the troops of 
the country from the plains of Reggio and Modena. 
Mathilda alone resisted this whirlwind ; her skilful 
manoeuvres often defeated the arrogance of her ad¬ 
versaries, who, confiding in their numbers and 
valor, hoped to overcome without difficulty the 
warriors of the Countess. Unforeseen attacks and 
frequent ambuscades put to naught all the plans of 
the Marquis Aubert. Having arrived, not without 
much difficulty, at the Castle of Sorbara, he found 
therein a strong and unyielding garrison. This re¬ 
sistance arrested his course just when he least ex¬ 
pected it; and as he did not judge it prudent to 
march upon Rome before being master of this for¬ 
midable fortress, he prepared to besiege it. 

Always on her guard, Mathilda, having learned 
through her scouts that the schismatic army, su¬ 
premely presumptuous, was totally undisciplined, 
passing the day in drinking and the night in sleep, 
almost without sentinels, entered, favored by the 
darkness, into the Lombard camp, giving for the war- 
cry to her warriors, ^‘Yiva Saint Peter!” They 
dispersed in small groups among the tents, and at 
a given signal shouted their waii-cry and began the 
onslaught. At this formidable cry the soldiers 
awoke. The name of the apostle terrified them. 
They rushed out of the tents, half naked and un¬ 
armed, in the hope of saving themselves by flight, 
and were slain without the smallest resistance. 
Aubert, seizing a sword,^flew to the thickest of the 


497 


The Metropolis of Modena. 

fight to rally and encourage his men. Vain efforts ! 
Blinded by terror and confusion, they ran about 
aimlessly, and, dealing blows to each other, were 
slain by their own arms or fell beneath those of 
the enemy. At the noise of battle, the besieged 
made a vigorous sortie, rather to collect the spoils 
of victory than to combat. The leader, Aubert, 
was slain by a javelin stroke ; six of the principal 
leaders were made prisoners, with Eberard of 
Parma and a hundred others of the most famous 
Lombard champions. Gandolph, flying from the 
soldiers of Mathilda, remained concealed in a 
bramble-bush for three days and nights. The 
treasure of the camp, the horses, and the immense 
load of baggage became the spoils of the victorious 
Countess. The schismatics were thrown into con¬ 
sternation by this brilliant feat, which gave a gleam 
of hope to the faithful. 

The following year Henry concentrated his forces 
against Eome; he took entire possession of it, and 
blockaded the Pope in the fortress of Crescentius, 
now the Castle of San Angelo, where he had taken 
shelter from the fury of Gilbert, who sought by 
every means to lay hands on his sacred person. 
Gilbert had corrupted and gained over to his cause 
a great portion of the citizens by allowing them to 
pillage the treasures of the churches and basilicas, 
the goods of the faithful, and giving benefices to 
the most unworthy persons. Henry, having joined 
him, distributed gold and silver, among these cor¬ 
rupted masses, to induce Eome to open her gates to 
him and give up Gregory. Informed of the immi- 


498 The Metropolis of Modena. 

nenfc peril which threatened Gregory, Robert Guis- 
card, Duke of Apulia, hastened to Rome, at the 
head of his Normans and the flower of the Apulian 
troops, to retake the city. Having forced the pas¬ 
sage on the Lateran side and made a breach, the 
soldiers of Robert poured like a furious torrent over 
Mount Celius, burning and putting to the sword all 
whom they met. The wind, blowing violently, sent 
the flame to the Quirinal, and even to the Viminal; 
so that in a few hours ancient Rome was reduced 
to ashes, suffering thus, in punishment of its trea¬ 
son, a destruction from which, even in our own 
day, it has not recovered. 

Robert Guiscard, having entrenched himself in 
the Amphitheatre and ravaged the Aventine, at 
length made his way to the Tower of Crescentius, 
overthrew the imperial forces, rescued Gregory 
from the sacrilegious hands of Henry and Gilbert, 
and retreated with him to the Liris, whence he 
conducted him safe and sound to the city of Salerno. 
Then Henry, together with the Anti-Pope, wreaked 
all his rage and cruelty on the ashes of Rome. The 
hapless Romans expiated their infidelity to the le¬ 
gitimate pastor, and would have paid still more 
dearly for it had not Henry been obliged to return 
in all haste to Germany, where, after the death of 
Rudolph of Suabia, the Catholic princes had elected 
as King of the Romans Hermann of Lorraine, who, 
at the head of the Saxon armies, disputed with 
Henry the possession of the empire. After various 
vicissitudes, he defeated his competitor, cruelly 
avenged himself on the Catholic party, and, believ- 


499 


The Metropolis of Modeyia. 

ing himself already freed from his enemies, returned 
to Italy, burning to vent his resentment against 
Mathilda. 

Already had the death of Gregory, occurring in 
1086 at Salerno, created new agitations in the 
Church of God, persecuted by Gilbert. But the 
Countess Mathilda made an attack on Rome at the 
head of her army, expelled the Anti-Pope, and pro¬ 
ceeded, with the clergy and the people, to the-elec¬ 
tion of a lawful Pope. All the suffrages were in 
favor of the wise and pious Didier, Abbot of Monte 
Casino, who took the name of Victor III. The 
Pope having died in the following year, Mathilda 
labored again for the regular and lawful election of 
Urban III. However, the corrupted party of the 
Romans revolted, treacherously expelled Urban, 
and reopened the gates to the Anti-Pope, who was 
thus enabled to violate the chair of Peter and perse¬ 
cute Catholics. 

Mathilda collected all her forces to replace Ur¬ 
ban upon the throne. She began her march to¬ 
wards Rome, when Henry, delivered from his ene¬ 
mies in Germany, went down into Italy with a con¬ 
siderable force. He hoped to defeat the Countess, 
who alone resisted the charge of all the schismatic 
Italians leagued against her. Her tact, her military 
and diplomatic talents, had served her so well that 
she had vanquished her enemies one by one, and 
reduced them to esteem themselves fortunate in ac- 
ce23ting a truce. But as soon as they got wind of 
the arrival of Henry, they raised their heads; in¬ 
sults and sarcasms were heard around her. Fool! ” 


500 The Metropolis of Modena, 

cried they, ‘^wherefore confront alone the forces of 
G-ermany, and expose thy life to save that of the 
Pope And speaking thus, the lords sharpened 
their swords and united with the Emperor in com¬ 
bating her till death. But this invincible woman, 
confiding in God and Saint Peter, awaited them sin¬ 
gle-handed. Henry at first took all her castles, 
with the lands of her patrimony beyond the moun¬ 
tains, which were of great importance; then he 
descended the Alps, took up his position on the 
river Po, and laid siege to Mantua, which opened its 
gates to him through the treason of Hugo, who 
was Mathilda’s lieutenant, but a secret partisan of 
Henry. After that the Emperor successively re¬ 
duced all the fortified places which the Countess 
possessed beyond the river. He then took all the 
places situated along the river, Montemorello, Mon- 
tealfredo, Modena, and continued his manoeuvres 
against the others with the confidence of certain 
triumph. 

But when he had reached the fort of Montebello, 
now Monteveglio, Henry met with a resistance 
which was totally unexpected. He made an as¬ 
sault on the castle with the best troops of his army, 
resolved not to raise the siege before he had razed 
the walls, slain the defenders, and set fire to the' 
place. But he had to deal with the bravest war¬ 
riors of Italy, who had resolved to show him the 
worth and valor of the Italian arms combating for 
country, for justice, and for the integrity of the 
faith. 

, Henry closely blockaded the fort, making fu- 


The Metropolis of Modena, 501 

rious assaults every day, with a violence which in¬ 
creased by reason of the unyielding resistance 
offered him by these brave Italians. Seeing that 
the ordinary machines could not shake the founda¬ 
tions nor effect a breach in the fortifications, the 
Emperor, full of shame at seeing so powerful a 
force prolonging the siege without success, sum¬ 
moned the most expert and skilful workers in that 
art, to ask them by what means they should take pos¬ 
session of the castle. Without losing any time, they 
began to construct a formidable machine, arranged 
BO as to send forth a shower of projectiles, masses 
of stone and iron, to crush and reduce to powder 
the walls of bronze and steel. This terrible ma¬ 
chine set in motion a multitude of engines and bat¬ 
tering-rams to batter the fortifications and effect 
breaches in them. 

Meanwhile, the miserable Gilbert, anxious at the 
King’s delay, and fearing to find himself at the 
mercy of his enemies, whose number increased every 
day, because of the impiety and atrocity with which 
this ruffian profaned the Holy See, resolved to re¬ 
pair to the imperial camp. On her part, Mathilda 
was reduced to the last extremity. Liguria and 
Lombardy were in open rebellion, Tuscany was in 
revolt, and Emilia was almost entirely in the power 
of the schismatics. The duchies of Spoleto, Pice- 
num, and Oamerino were depopulated by the armies 
of Henry, Mathilda herself was short of money 
and reduced to a few forts. Her partisans were 
persecuted, distressed, and alarmed; the greater 
part of the clergy were in fetters or in exile. In 


502 The Metropolis of Modena. 

tliis state of things, Henry offered peace to Ma¬ 
thilda, with the restitution of all her provinces, 
which he pledged himself to reinstate in as flourish¬ 
ing a condition as before the war, but on condition 
of recognizing Gilbert. Timid courtiers, pusillani¬ 
mous bishops, subtle casuists, pressed the Countess 
to accept these proposals out of pity for her peo¬ 
ple and subjects'. Mathilda drew herself up and 
asked: ^^Is the peace purchased at the price of 
offending God a true peace ? No; it is a crime. 
What is a kingdom, if conscience remains invio¬ 
late ? Say to Henry that if God is for me, 1 fear 
not the Emperor.” 

Henry, seeing that it was useless to insist further, 
and having flnished his gigantic engine of destruc¬ 
tion, said to Gilbert and to his followers : 

To-morrow we shall be in Monteveglio; I shall 
destroy that city, and then carry my arms to Oanos- 
sa ! lam curious to observe if the Papal keys will 
open a new kingdom to my cousin.” 

Yes, in the clouds,” replied the Anti-Pope with 
an ironical smile. 

However, after the conclusion of the negotiations 
with Henry, Mathilda succeeded in secretly reinforc¬ 
ing the place and introducing therein a large de¬ 
tachment of soldiers. The following night they 
made a vigorous sortie and set Are to the machine, 
which was soon reduced to ashes. Then they im¬ 
petuously assailed the imperial camp. It was a 
terrible struggle—like a troop of lions rushing upon 
a herd of bulls. Rage lent untold strength and 
new weapons. Mathilda, stationed upon the 


The Metropolis of Modena. 503 

heights, descended with her troops to reinforce the 
assailants, and routed the imperial forces, who fled in 
complete disorder ; their ranks were utterly broken ; 
those who attempted to make a retreat were com¬ 
pletely cut to pieces. Henry had at first animated 
them with his yoiee and example, but, seeing the 
defeat of his battalions, he fell back, leaving be¬ 
neath the walls of Monteveglio a multitude of sol¬ 
diers mortally wounded. He lost the flower of 
his officers and one of his sons, whom he dearly 
loved. The “besieged took possession of the camp, 
baggage, provisions, and numerous horses and arms. 
More and more enraged, Henry feigned to march 
towards Modena, but, by an adroit stratagem, he 
secretly retraced his steps along the base of the 
mountains to conceal himself beyond Bianello, 
there surprise Mathilda, and seize upon Oanossa. 
But the valiant heroine divined the Emperor's plan; 
she therefore took another road over the summits 
of the mountains, and* succeeded in passing Henry. 
She was thus enabled to retire to the fort of Bianel¬ 
lo, before her enemy thought of pursuing her. 
Without stopping, Henry climbed the heights, oc¬ 
cupied all the passages, and at length arrived be¬ 
fore the castle. But, to his great disappointment, 
he suddenly found himself confronted by Italian 
warriors. A deadly struggle recommenced. Un¬ 
able to display his troops, and shut in as he was by 
the rugged slopes of the mountain, Henry saw 
himself rendered almost powerless, whilst the war¬ 
riors of Mathilda were continually receiving aid 
from Oanossa. The cavalry, of the King could 


504 The Metropolis of Modena. 

neither manoeuvre nor charge on the* enemy. 
Mathilda went from rank to rank, animating her 
troops and ranging them in the form of a cone, to 
offer less front to the enemy and fight more securely. 
This dexterous arrangement, added to the advan¬ 
tage of the ground, assured the success of her 
army, whose rear-guard rested in Canossa. 

Ottocar, who had sworn to he the first upon the 
breach, carried the imperial standard. Mathilda 
recognized him, and pointed him out to her soldiers. 
He was made prisoner, and the flag taken from his 
hands. At this sight the imperial courage began 
to decline. Then began a horrible carnage, whence 
even those who sought safety in flight did not es¬ 
cape ; for in their haste they slipped over the edges 
of precipices and rolled to the base of the mountain, 
torn by the jagged edges of the rock. Henry owed 
his safety to a miracle. His defeat was so complete 
that the fugitives could not rally till they reached 
the banks of the Po, which he precipitately crossed, 
having to mourn the flower of his lords killed or 
made prisoners in the battle. 

After having subdued the Lombards, humbled 
the arrogance of Gilbert, conquered and cut to 
pieces Henry’s army, Mathilda immediately took 
possession of her states and pursued the Emperor 
to the walls of Verona, where he had taken refuge 
with the remnants of that formidable army which 
had seemed likely to destroy all Italy. The flight 
of the King was so hasty that he was obliged to 
abandon all his treasures ; the Countess had merely 
the trouble of collecting them. 


505 


The Metropolis of Modena, 

Mathilda made her entrance into Canossa amid 
the bishops and lords faithful to the Church. She 
repaired to the temple of Saint Apollonius, there 
to sing the praises of God, who had so visibly pro¬ 
tected her, and to lay the imperial standard in per¬ 
petual memory of so happy a victory. Full of 
shame and confusion, Henry took refuge in Ger¬ 
many, where still more cruel reverses awaited him. 
Whilst he still continued to make war against the 
Church like a furious lion, his son Conrad raised 
against him the standard of revolt, and reduced him 
to such an extremity that the wretched Emperor 
sought only death. Gilbert remained hardened in 
wickedness. He could not endure that the true 
Pope Urban, or afterwards Pascal II., should reign 
in triumph at Home, but he had not sufficient forces 
at his command to expel them. He organized a 
band of highwaymen, who robbed and assassinated 
prelates on their way to the Council of Rome, and 
the pilgrims going to the tomb of the holy apostles. 
The unhappy wretch died suddenly of an attack of 
gout, impenitent and excommunicated ; his body 
was thrown into the Tiber like that of an unclean 
animal. 

After having rendered thanks to God in the 
temple of Saint Apollonius, Mathilda caused 
Ottocar to be brought before her, and said : 

Marquis of Brunn, I know thy designs in the 
taking of Canossa. . . . Thou wouldst have been 
the first to plant the imperial banner on the highest 
tower, put all my court to the sword, and cast the 
old Papist—me, in a word—into the depths of a 


5o6 The Metropolis of Modena, 

dungeon in thy German castles. Thou -seest how 
God mocks at the vows of his enemies ! There are 
still old debts which thou wouldst pay to my dear 
Yoland of Groningen, now the wife of the Land* 
grave of Thuringia, whom thou didst long perse* 
cute, though she was defenceless. But thou 
seest that Mathilda is not Yoland, and that the 
Castle of Canossa is not the Convent of Saint Mary 
at Brunn ! I can now cast thee into the depths of 
this tower, on the summit of which thou wouldst 
have unfurled the banner of Henry; but I prefer to 
teach thee how Christians should avenge them¬ 
selves. Thou art a brave knight; thy mind is lofty 
and thy heart generous. By espousing the cause of 
Henry and his Anti-Pope, thou didst war against 
Christ, persecute and distress the Church, and 
scandalize Christendom. Excommunication and 
anathema are upon thee. Yet thou canst return 
to God and render thyself worthy of eternal salva¬ 
tion. The sepulchre of Jesus Christ is in the hands 
of the infidels. Here is a lance and shield ; join the 
Crusaders, cross the seas, fight like a valiant hero 
as thou art, and then thou wilt die a martyr or live 
a glorious champion of Christ! ” 

Countess,’^ replied Ottocar, in a voice broken 
by the liveliest emotion, ‘‘ thy generosity surprises 
me not; thou dost ever outdo thyself in greatness. 
But I cannot overcome my amazement when I con* 
sider that the magnificent gifts which thou makesfc 
me of my life and liberty are rendered more precious 
by the condition which thou dost thei’eto affix. la 
there an aim nobler or more glorious than that of 


The Metropolis of Modena, 507 

combating to deliver the Holy Sepulchre from the 
hands of the infidels ? Eeceive, then, in thy hands 
I leave it, my solemn oath ! Give me the sacred 
iBign before that altar where thou hast so often 
pj’ayed for the exaltation of the holy Church, where 
thou hast sung the praises of Him who has reward¬ 
ed thy faith and devotion by a glorious triumph. I 
depart for the Orusadb. Make known to Yoland 
that her persecutor, thanks to thee, has found the 
means to render himself worthy of her. When she 
prays, may she deign to send towards tlie plains 
of Palestine a breath of supplication to God, that 
he may reanimate in battle the courage of the Cru¬ 
sader ! . . . Oh ! that she were now at Canossa, that 
I might pray her to affix with her own hands the 
cross upon my coat-of-arms. Such a recollection 
would have been very dear to me ! . . 

Marquis,” said Mathilda, I still have Yo- 
land’s harp, covered with a purple cloth. I shall 
cut therefrom a cross, and fasten it myself upon 
thy breast. Bishop Anselm shall bless it; He is a 
saint, and will obtain for thee grace and the bene¬ 
diction of God.” 

Some days later the young knight set out to em 
bark with the other warriors upon a Pisan vessel. 

Her enemies being vanquished and dispersed, 
Mathilda reigned in peace over Italy, ever victori¬ 
ously protecting the Popes, persecuted and molested 
by the wicked spirit of the world. She renewed 
more solemnly the donation of her states to the 
Holy See, and, remembering the gift of Pepin and 
of Charlemagne, believed it but a simple act of 


5o8 The Metropolis of Modena. 

restitution. The bitter and violent agitations of the 
ninth and tenth centuries had taken from the 
Church a great portion of its domains, which the 
designs of divine Providence had added to the 
patrimony of Mathilda, who hastened to offer it un¬ 
selfishly to Saint Peter. 

Therefore let certain politicians cease their de¬ 
mands, loudly questioning what right the 
Church possesses these states ! But they know his¬ 
tory as well as, or better than we ; they know that 
there is no dynasty on earth which has the source 
of its right of possession clearer or better founded 
than that of the Church. And yet they cry out ob¬ 
stinately that the Church took possession of its 
provinces by fraud, by abusing the ignorance and 
superstition of the sovereigns and people of the 
Middle Ages. 

You know history better than we ; but more than 
any others do you abuse the ignorance of the multi¬ 
tude. It has, say you, become so wise and prudent 
by civilization. Alas ! it is no different to-day from 
what it was a hundred, two hundred, or a thousand 
years ago. You have magic words, you dazzle the 
vulgar with your glittering baubles, you imitate 
Swatiza swallowing the lead, chewing tow, and 
drawing forth red ribbons. But for all that you 
can say, the Countess Mathilda will be none the 
less illustrious ; all good people shall cease not to 
exalt her in the course of ages. Her tomb is in the 
Vatican. She shares the honors rendered to the 
tomb of the Prince of the Apostles by the nu¬ 
merous pilgrims who go thither to prostrate them- 


The Metropolis of Modena. 509 

selves. All unite in glorifying her munificence and 
applauding that magnanimous heart which ever 
beats with love and respect for the Church and her 
pastors. Would the writer who wrote so emphatical¬ 
ly '^that Henry taught the Caesars how they ought to 
treat the Popes,” be, in the sight of Cod and all just 
men, Henry or Mathilda, Gregory YII. or Gilbert ? 
Would this loyal and honest man promise and then 
break his word, swear and perjure himself at all 
times, as did King Henry, or maintain the integri¬ 
ty of his word and make himself the defender of 
truth and justice with Mathilda ? Would he per¬ 
secute the Church, sell her at auction, place Anti¬ 
popes in the sacred chair, or remain faithful to the 
Vicars of Jesus Christ, defend them in war, receive 
them in persecution, honor them in insults ? Let 
his conscience answer. 

If we have not borne false testimony in describing 
Henry, if we have depicted him such as contempo¬ 
rary authors, even his friends and partisans, show 
him to be, how could so noble a writer invite the 
Caesars to imitate this hapless prince ? Why not, 
on the contrary, persuade them to imitate those 
glorious heroes who merit an eternal crown for theii 
fidelity in defending the holy Church ? The time 
of the Anti-Popes is no more, but what does not pass 
away is this desire on the part of so many deluded 
men who rejoice at the struggles and afflictions of 
the Church; and that which the Caesars could 
never accomplish, because divine grace restrained 
them, certain authors flatter themselves that they 
can effect by stirring up against the Church hatred 


510 The Metropolis of Modena, 

and contempt and the insults of people -led away 
and enthralled by their sophisms. 

We entreat our readers to pronounce dispassion¬ 
ately between Henry and Mathilda, appealing to 
their sound Judgment. Henry mocked at all laws, 
both human and divine ; he spread ignorance and 
barbarism throughout Italy, and ended his life 
without kingdom or glory. Mathilda, on the other 
hand, planted the precious germ of that high civili¬ 
zation which elevated the destinies of Italy to such 
a height that she became a queen among the nations 
of the West. With the aid of Italian valor, Mathil¬ 
da vanquished the most powerful of the foreign 
powers who conspired for her ruin. She governed 
that vast monarchy with such wisdom, magnani¬ 
mity, and benevolence that she received the surname 
of the Good Lady.” Her name is held in bene¬ 
diction, and her mortal remains rest with honor in 
the grandest temple in the world, amid the urns 
and sublime mausoleums of the holiest and most 
illustrious pontiffs of the Church of God. 



CHAPTER XXIIL 

CONCLUSION. 

Finding myself one day with two friends in the 
sweet solitude of Xotre,Dame de Galloro, on the 
hill of Alicia, I led them to an outlet of Lake 
Nemi, which flows under the rock of Collepar- 
do into the valley, which it waters and fertilizes 
through its whole extent. Before reaching this 
spot, I pointed out to them the great layers of stone 
in the Appian Way, resting intact for a length of 
more than a hundred feet, and supporting the point 
which rests in the Val d’Or upon the side of Colle- 
pardo. They could never weary of admiring these 
gigantic blocks, so perfectly grouped for more than 
two thousand years, and those beautiful rounded 
arches giving passage to the waters of the Val d’Or. 
There stands the celebrated shrine of Mary, its 
spire rising from amid a cluster of olive-trees. We 
left with regret these imposing ruins, taking our 
way along a road bordered, by rows of elder-trees, 
with their sombre and tufted foliage, which waved 
their white and flowering boughs above our heads, 
filling the air with a delicious fragrance. A chorus 
of nightingales sang their sweet melodies among 
the luxuriant verdure, and gave to this charming 





512 


Conclusicm. 


solitude a peace and calm serenity so enchanting 
that we slackened our pace to lose none of their 
sweet and tender concert. 

At the spot where the path diverges into two 
broad roads leading to the canal, we met a party 
who had also come to visit this wonderful outlet of 
Lake Nemi. The party was composed of a lady, 
her two daughters, their brother, a young student, 
a ‘prelate, who was the Countess’s uncle, and a 
canon. The prelate, who knew us, courteously 
saluted us. 

Come,” said he to me, *‘you, who pretend to be 
something of an antiquanan, can perhaps inform 
us of the name of him who made this opening. Is 
it as ancient as the people of Aricia pretend ? Is it 
a Koman work? Such, at least, is my opinion.” 

My lord,” I replied, the Eomans opened the 
canal of the Lake of Albano. but that of Lake 
Nemi is anterior, by several centuries, to the foun¬ 
dation of Eome; it dates back to the most remote 
period of the Pelagii, to an epoch which history 
cannot fix, because it is more ancient than the 
memory of man. The first colonies of the Pelagii 
established themselves in Italy, and erected, in the 
valley of Aricia, on the shores of Lake JSTemi, the 
famous oracle of the Phoenician Astartes, which the 
people of the West later named the Arician Diana. 
The Greeks, always inclined to appropriate every¬ 
thing, pretend that the Tauric Diana was brought to 
the neighborhood of Chersonesia by Orestes, son of 
Agamemnon ; then the oracle of Nemi is anterior by 
three centuries, at least, to the taking of Troy. 


Conclusion. 


513 


Now, the Pelagii, seeing that the sudden risings of 
the lake sometimes reached as high as its banks 
and overflowed so as to threaten the temple, con¬ 
ceived the idea of opening a canal, which would 
force it to maintain an equal level. These Eastern 
nations, very well versed in the science of hydrau¬ 
lics, penetrated the rock which faces the valley of 
Aricia ; they set miners to work beside the lake and 
in the valley, who worked so diligently that they met 
each other half-way. What proves that they broke 
through the obstacle of the two opposing points is 
that the outlet makes a turn at the spot where the 
workmen met, and that on this spot strokes of 
a pickaxe, marked in the stone, show a contrary 
direction. They managed the plains and elevations 
so skilfully that the water, without slackening its 
course, is not liable to obstruct the canal by the 
violence of its fall, as occurred at the famous aque¬ 
duct of Lake Fiucine, in the time of the Emperor 
Claudius.” 

. The two young girls, as anxious for instruction 
as they usually are at that age, listened to me with, 
deep attention. One of them, named Isabella, was 
about eighteen ; her sister, Antoinette, was verging 
on her sixteenth year. Good and intelligent chil¬ 
dren, they had received an excellent education, by 
which they had well profited ; they particularly en¬ 
joyed the reading of good books. They were espe¬ 
cially fond of the Civiltd Cattolica^ which they 
read to their mother in leisure hours. Often there 
arose little friendly quarrels with their brother, who, 
partly in jest, often argued with them on some 


514 


Conclusion. 


truth of religion or a principle of natural right or 
sound diplomacy. Then the young girls would 
grow warm, and call him an unbeliever and a Maz- 
zinian, which would make the young man still 
more caustic. 

When I had finished speaking, I saw Isabella 
bend towards her uncle to ask him who I was. 

“ Oh 1” answered he aloud, ‘^he is the author of 
the ^ Jew of Verona’! . . .” 

It needed no more to make the young girls be¬ 
wilder me with questions, but the prelate interrupt¬ 
ed them, saying: 

What was your idea in taking us back a hun¬ 
dred years with your Countess Mathilda ? The 
‘Jew of Verona’ treats of the troubles of 1848, 
which we have seen and touched with our finger ; 
that was what made such a reputation for your 
book in Italy. Friends and enemies passed it 
round amongst them—the one to amuse themselves, 
and the others to grow angry. In ‘ Ubaldo and 
Irene,’ you speak of the French Revolution and 
Napoleon, and, even while yawning a little over it, 
people could not help reading it with some atten¬ 
tion. But as for ‘ Mathilda,’ it is too much !. . . 
The world is civilized now, thank Grod ! and we 
have other customs, other ideas, other tendencies. 
In this enlightened age you bring us back to bar¬ 
barous times with a real pleasure, which I have no 
doubt affords you some gratification, but which I 
do not think will be equally pleasing to your 
readers.” 

“My lord,” answered I, “you do not ask me 


Conclusion, 


515 

this question for your own information, nor for 
that of the Rev. Canon, nor for these young ladies ; 
perhaps you have in view this elegant young gentle¬ 
man.” 

Oh ! I never read such monkish stuff,” replied 
the young man, with a half-mocking, half-annoyed 
air, making a grimace as if he were asked to drink 
some absinthe. 

“ Do not believe him, sir,” said the two sisters 
quickly; he delights in your review. He tells us, 
too, that he does not read the Civiltd; but we 
have often found it under his pillow !” 

run over it to be up in the current literature 
... of the Italian tongue. . . 

it for the tongue? . . . The fact is that it 
often sets your teeth on edge, my dear brother ! ” 
replied Isabella, smiling and darting at Antoinette 
a malicious glance. But will you not, sir, tell us 
what were your reasons for writing ^ Mathilda of 
Canossa ’ ?” 

Young ladies,” answered I, that the subject 
is old and worn out I am aware; still, contemporary 
historians relate it in a style which is barbarous, if 
you will, but clear and distinct. Reading those old 
folios with their yellow leaves, the evidence is clear 
that Gregory VII. was a holy man with a great and 
undaunted heart. He had a lofty mind and was 
animated by the purest intentions. He resolved to 
purify the Church of God of the abuses with which 
the wicked had profaned it; to free it from the op¬ 
pression caused by the pride and avarice of the 
great ones of the earth. Henry IV. is described 


Conclusion, 


516 

precisely as I have depicted him; I have ohly lent 
my colors to those old chronicles ! Yet—would you 
believ« it ?—there are writers in our own days who 
might he mistaken for fanatical members of the 
Synod of Worms, who cast reproach and maledic¬ 
tions on the head of the great Saint Gregory. It is 
true that they reserve all their tenderness for 
Henry. Their heart, all gall for the Pope, becomes 
all honey for the Emperor. He is a German, an 
oppressor of Italy ; but were he a Turk or Tartar, 
he would be equally welcome, because he seeks to 
humble the Popes. Those patidots who cry out in 
one place : ‘ Away with strangers ! away with 
barbarism ! liberty and independence for Italy ! ’ 
a few pages further on glorify the Emperor Henry 
IV. They sympathize with his misfortunes, and 
cannot say enough against Pope Gregory. Let an 
army come down on Italy, commanded by Henry 
IV., Barbarossa, or Frederick II., if they come to 
expel the Pope from his chair, the fanatics of na¬ 
tional liberty would run before the oppressors with 
flowers and garlands. I should not have thought 
of disinterring these old chronicles if our writers 
were not continually bringing them to light after 
having covered them with a wicked and deceitful 
gloss. The Jansenists found it more convenient to 
erase Gregory’s name from the list of saints. They 
have struck out his Mass and OfiSce from the Bre¬ 
viary. In certain countries of Italy, which 1 will 
not name, a wise and learned bishop, not long since, 
was openly reprimanded for having indicated in the 
diocesan calender the day on which the Church 


Conclusion. 


517 


celebrates the Feast of Saint Gregory, which is 
fixed for the 25 th of May. The other day—do not 
laugh, I beg of you—^there was published at Milan 
a picture of the Popes, suppressing the word saint 
under the portrait of Gregory VII.” 

Really ! And why ?” said Antoinette. 

Through love of the Emperor, to be sure ; they 
fear to take away his sleep and appetite ! ... Is 
it not a refinement of solicitude ? ” 

At these words the Countess smiled with a 
rather sardonic air, and cried out: 

Ah ! the fools ; and yet in 1848 they were 
anxious that the thunders of the Vatican and the 
sword of Saint Peter should strike him who then 
commanded them. And in 1858 they are afraid to 
give the title of saint to this Gregory VII., who had 
snatched the sword from the hands of Henry IV.” 

‘‘ Mentita est iniquitas sibi” said the Canon with 
his deep voice. 

Do speak Italian,” said Isabella; you are 
always talking Latin. . . ,” 

That means in Italian, my daughter, that the 
thoughts of the wicked are so distorted that they 
lie even to themselves. Their yes of to-day will be 
no in their mouth to-morrow, according to circum¬ 
stances or their own caprice.” 

To conclude,” continued I, I should never 
have dreamed of exhuming these old histories, but 
that honest men are warned to stir up these ashes 
and evoke these delusive phantoms. In our days 
there is not a single writer of any note who does 
not take pains to speak evil of the Popes, and par- 


Conclusion, 


518 

ticularly of Gregory VII. That saint, who is for 
eight hundred years among the glory of the elect, 
receiyes daily the most cruel insults ; and, as if it 
were not enough to heap reproaches on him, they 
assail the Papacy in general, and with so much 
yiolence that the weak begin to ask themselves if 
Jesus Christ were not mistaken in transmitting the 
primacy to Saint Peter and his successors. All the 
evils of Italy are, in their eyes, the work of that 
august see, which shines out the most brightly 
when the attacks upon it are the most bitter. 
Hammers are broken, swords shattered, and the 
throne remains unshaken.” 

Yes,” said the prelate ; ^^but since the learned 
Protestant author Voigt has so well defended 
Gregory VII., no honest and sensible writer can 
falsify history.” 

Eh ! my lord, they know history well enough, 
but they delight in disfiguring it in the eyes of the 
multitude. In face of the evil done by these wri¬ 
ters, especially among ignorant and credulous 
youth, it becomes a duty for us, faithful and devot¬ 
ed children of the Church, to raise our voices and 
defend her against her enemies. We refute old 
falsehoods by old truths ; it is a war which shall 
never end, because the enemies of the Church shall 
never allow her a truce. Let them be silent, and 
we shall do likewise.” 

‘^But,” said Isabella, ‘^they will never do it. It 
is really a pity ! If you could hear the converaation 
of some young people. ... In a word, sir, it is in¬ 
credible !” 


Conclusion, 


519 


Whoever has common sense will say, God speed 
you in your efforts,” interrupted the Countess ; he 
will thank God that, in such a vortex of error, 
falsehood, and sophistry, there yet remains in 
Italy a heart generous enough to say to these 
wretches : ^ Your assertions are false.’ ” 

^^Well!” said the young man, '^hut after all 
what is all that but tlie Civiltd Cattolica ? ” 

Count,” said I, tell me, I pray you, if the 
Countess, your mother, who is a model among 
Roman ladies by her piety, prudence, and goodness, 
were to be calumniated by unscrupulous men, 
would you not feel yourself obliged to give them 
the lie ? Would not your gentle and amiable sisters 
be filled with indignation, and in defending the 
honor of their mother would they not be defending 
their own ? Yes, you would do it, and so would 
your sisters, through filial love. If infamous libels 
were published against her, would you not as pub¬ 
licly defend her, and willingly expose yourself to 
the hatred, fury, and resentment of those who in¬ 
sulted her ? And if they reproached you, saying 
that you and your sisters only did so through fami¬ 
ly spirit, would you find the reproach well found¬ 
ed ? Now, we are all sons of the holy Church, 
who is our spiritual mother. Does not the calum¬ 
niator act the part of an undutiful son and create 
discord in the family ? He who combats the 
Church separates himself from her, forms a sect, 
and cuts himself off from the Catholic family. 


* Catholic civilization. 


520 


Conclusioft. 


Those who say that the Civiltd CattoUca ardently 
defends one sect abuse the word, confuse ideas, and 
attribute to us what is their own.” 

Isabella, to cut short a conversation which was 
embaiTassing to her brother, said in a light tone: 

Father, is all that you have related of Mathilda 
and Yoland really historical ? ” 

Yes, with this exception: that Yoland is a ficti¬ 
tious character, portrayed in vivid colors and natu¬ 
rally borrowed from the customs, morals, manners, 
and superstitions of these rude times. As to the 
facts relative to the Countess Mathilda, Gregory 
VII., and Henry IV., they are in strict conformance 
with the portraits left us of these individuals by 
contemporary authors, of whom some, like Doni- 
zone, were eye-witnesses of their life.” 

But,” observed Antoinette, why treat so much 
of Yoland, who often eclipses the principal charac¬ 
ter, which is really Mathilda ? ” 

‘‘I will tell you. You know that I was commis¬ 
sioned to write some amusing tales for the Civiltd. 
Now, it was therefore necessary for me to amuse my 
readers, and not weary them. The time of Ma¬ 
thilda is of itself so grave and austere that it would 
have been but little relished had I not endeavored 
to enliven it a little. Now, I desired to make my¬ 
self readable to the masses, with a design of refut¬ 
ing a multitude of erroneous ideas on the im¬ 
portant facts relative to the memory of the illustri¬ 
ous Gregory VII. I wished to publish an interest¬ 
ing defence of that Roman Pontiff, so often cen¬ 
sured by Protestants, and even by bad Catholics, 


Conclusion. 521 

who dare to tax him with pride, cruelty, and injus¬ 
tice.” 

I know,” said the Canon, that you have 
pleaded your cause like a skilful advocate, but An¬ 
toinette’s objection still exists. Your Yoland seems 
like a digression.” 

“ Gifted with a delicate perception, Antoinette 
shows me this defect in an artistic point of view. I 
admit that in my story the secondary character 
often somewhat eclipses the principal. Still, per¬ 
mit me to make a comparison. Suppose there was 
to be a tournament; it being only an exercise of 
amusement, each one seeks to make a figure there¬ 
in, to display a beautiful crest, a glittering helmet, 
a richly-mounted sword, a war-horse splendidly ca¬ 
parisoned. If, on the contrary, there is a midnight 
attack made on a gentleman; if a criminal hand 
should pillage and set fire to his dwelling, he 
springs from his bed, takes a shield which may be 
rusty but strong, an old steel helmet, a well-sharp¬ 
ened lance, and rushes out, striking about with 
sword or spear. He thinks neither of elegance 
nor of the appearance of his arms ; it suflSces that 
they be well tempered to aid him in his defence. 
Apply this comparison to the present case. I 
am not armed for parade, but to defend my Father’s 
house, which the enemy threatens. Little matter if 
my arms are rusty, provided that they be good and 
strong ! I knew, while writing, that the episode of 
Yoland was excessively long, but my object was to 
depict at once the age of Gregory VII., and to 
show some modern writers that they must not 


Conclusion. 


judge that great Pope by the code of Napoleon, hut 
according to the Lombard, Salic, and canonical laws 
of that epoch, without troubling themselves alout 
the opinions of Fleury, Montesquieu, Thiers, and 
Quinet. In truth, if, as writers proclaim, opinion 
IS queen of the world, if everything is influenced by 
her judgment, why then, in judging of past cen¬ 
turies, do they not follow the same method ? In 
painting, that would be called a defect in local 
coloring, an anachronism, like the pictures of the 
school of Giotto, who clothes the Greeks and 
Eomans according to the Florentine fashion of the 
thirteenth century ; of Paul Veronese, whose char¬ 
acters are clad in tunics of Venetian velvet and 
satin; or the eccentric Paul Farinato, who intro¬ 
duced canons into the magnificent fresco of Bethu- 
lia. I wished to personify in Yoland the spirit of 
those ages of faith, and, in spite of their rude and 
uncultivated manners, full of truth and loyalty. 
There existed then but little civil law, often doubt¬ 
ful, ambiguous, but subject to the judgments of 
God. The Church alone possessed at that time, in 
the canonical power, wise, clear, and accurate laws, 
respected by Christian society, which, without their 
aid, would have fallen Iiito a state of anarchy and 
become the prey of brute force. Our historians 
would ej.\t a singl^iar figure if, judging the Popes of 
the tenth ceiitn'-y according to the Gallican ideas 
and the laws of Joseph IL, they were to pronounce 
in that way upon the difiiculties of Gregory and 
Henry. 

remember the stir which was made in 


Conclusion. 


523 

Lombardy about an oversight on the part of Father 
Antonio Cesari, the translator of the comedies of 
Terence ? In place of making one of the charac¬ 
ters say to an interlocutor, ‘ I shall return in an in¬ 
stant,’ he translated it: ^ I shall return in a Credo /’ 
What exultation there was over that Credo ! So¬ 
lemn anachronism in the mouth of a pagan ! Alas ! 
in our days how many people who have no Credo 
will yet judge, write, and speak of these ages of 
belief! How they speak of everything, nothing 
being sacred to them, of the exception of canonical 
laws, of pontifical authority, of ecclesiastical ques¬ 
tions, of councils and synods, of which they under¬ 
stand nothing. They render judgments and pro¬ 
nounce sentences, full of oversights and blunders, 
which they would offer to the uninitiated as judg¬ 
ments without appeal.” 

You are right,” said the prelate. “I regard 
that epoch as the noblest and most glorious for 
Italy, which had then raised itself above all Chris¬ 
tian nations. Was it not beautiful to see, at a 
period so rude and barbarous, when Europe was 
plunged in darkness, the Catholic court of Mathil¬ 
da, the asylum of politeness and civilization, shed¬ 
ding its lustre to the very confines of the West, 
laboring for civilization, softening rudeness, reviv¬ 
ing courtesy, elevating study and the sciences, 
consolidating the basis of Christian diplomacy, 
restraining tyranny, and showing the great how 
strength may be allied with justice, liberty, and 
love ? ” 

Yes,” said the Countess, I admire that illus- 


524 


Conclusion. 


trious royal virgin of fifteen years, riding intrepidly 
beside her mother, and putting to fiight the schis¬ 
matic troops of the Anti-Pope Cadolaus on the Lom¬ 
bard plains.” • 

And afterwards,” replied I, with her godfather, 
Godfrey of Lorraine, she again annihilated on 
the banks of the Tiber the army of the Anti-Pope, 
and replaced Alexander II. on the pontifical throne. 
Having become Countess, she repulsed in a hundred 
combats the assaults of the enemies of the Church ; 
and after having dispersed the legions of the traitor 
Gilbert, she restored Urban IL, the lawful Pontiff, 
to the throne. Without allies, she ■withstood solely 
with the forces of Italy the attacks of the German 
armies of Henry IV. She defeated and put them 
to fiight in Lombardy, on the fields of Sorbara, on 
the rocks of Monteveglio, before the walls of 
Canossa, on the hills of Novare, and compelled the 
greatest captain and most valiant sovereign of her 
age to retreat from a country which he had entered 
in triumph. Thanks to that illustrious heroine, it 
may be said that Italy then was true to herself, 
for she fought for her faith and for justice, without 
which there can be no true liberty. In our day, 
and for more than half a century, our country is 
combating for a liberty which is but the mask of 
tyrants. A few conspirators abuse the name of 
Italy to plot against legitimate authority, to de¬ 
stroy all rights, to convulse society, and stir up 
hatred and revenge. Always hostile to the Vicar 
of Christ, they threaten to extinguish in Italian 
hearts the last glimmer of Catholic faith.” 


Conclusion. 


525 


Isabella, who began to grow tired, said: 

You were a little too austere in your story ; we 
do not find in it those frequent descriptions which 
used to give us so much pleasure, or those animated 
little dialogues, so full of spirit. . . P 

“ Alas! my dear young ladies, as to the matter 
of jokes, I have emptied my sack. Besides, my 
subject did not admit of levity ; and then, if I must 
tell you in confidence, it seems to me that I had 
already abused that style in my first works. In a 
hundred years, if my books are still m existence, 
people will ask : ^ What kind of a man was 
that ? At his age, and in his position, did 
any one ever see such a mingling of nonsense 
with the most serious subjects ?’ Ah ! if I could 
then thrust my head through the chinks of my 
coffin, I would say to these severe censors: 
‘ Gentlemen, your words are golden, but know 
that mine was an age which fostered such a multi¬ 
tude of gazettes, journals, and reviews that every 
one formed their opinions according to their views, 
and that it was not rare to find their erroneous sug¬ 
gestions on the truths of religion, on morals, or poli¬ 
tics disturbing society and destroying all notion of 
right or wrong. Then there was a review founded 
under the name of La Civiltd CattoUca. Its ob¬ 
ject was to treat all questions, political, social, 
philosophical, religious, and moral; to strive to bring 
back to the broad path all who had wandered into 
the byways. To me was confided the task of sound¬ 
ing the trumpet, to coUect the crowd.’ Now, you 
understand that, charged with so delicate a mission. 


526 


Conclusion. 


I must, in order to attract the people, amuse and 
recreate them, even when they are longing, I will 
not say to weep, but to sleep. I wish to go out of 
. my ordinary role of jester in the Countess Mathilda,' 
and I have promised myself never to return to it.'' 

Ah I do not say so,” answered Isabella; ‘^you 
would deprive us of a great pleasure! ... We 
women, and young men of my brother’s age, read in 
the review only the stories, and sometimes the 
news. We cannot digest those abstract treatises on 
constitutional government, political economy, the 
supremacy of the people, and transcendental 
philosophy. Some excuse must be made for us ! 
... A joke makes us laugh, and often forces us to 
listen to the truth. If you fear the judgment of 
men of a future age, reassure yourself. They will 
say: * He has taken the world on its weak side, 
and cast the line for the fish to nibble.’ Please 
give us very soon a nice and very lively little story. 
. . . See how eagerly we shall wait for the next 
book ! Have you any story in view ?” 

Ho, indeed ; my inkstand is dry, my pen worn 
out, and my fingers have grown cramped. I long 
to take some rest; would you be severe and exact¬ 
ing enough to injure my health ? Let me, then, 
have a little time to breathe.” 

And what do you consider a little time ?” 

You will surely grant me the season at the Springs 
to take breath. You would not wish me to return 
to Pome in the middle of August, and scorch my 
brain under the dogstar’s rays. . . .” 


Conclusion, 


527 

There is nothing to hinder you from writing at 
the Springs. . . 

That is true;, and I will do my best to oblige 
you ; but if I do not satisfy you, attribute the failure 
to idleness,’^ 

Do not fear that I shall do you that injustice. 
... By the way, I would like to know when and 
how the Countess Mathilda died.” 

She died as she lived, a good and generous 
Christian, at her Castle of Bondeno, July 24 , 1115 . 
She was laid in a magnificent marble tomb in the 
Church of St. Benedict at Polirone, which she had 
richly endowed. That monastery still remains, 
after so many centuries, to celebrate the anniversary 
of the day of her death. The first Monday of every 
month all the bells are rung, a solemn Mass is sung, 
and alms are distributed to four thousand poor per¬ 
sons for the repose of that holy soul. Urban VIII. 
desired that her remains should rest in the Vatican 
.near the tomb of Saint Peter, and erected a superb 
monument to her. 

After the famous defeat of Henry IV., Mathil¬ 
da continued to govern her vast domains with firm¬ 
ness, love, and justice. She founded abbeys and 
monasteries, to which she secured considerable re¬ 
venues. She built parochial churches, established 
chapters, erected the finest and most beautiful ca¬ 
thedrals of her time. These vast edifices became 
so numerous that there spread among the people, 
according to the Chronicles of Lucca, an odd enough 
report. The Countess Mathilda, it was said, wished 
to succeed in building a hundred basilicas, that she 


Conclusion, 


528 

might obtain from the Pope the privilege of having 
the power, in spite of her sex, to celebrate the di¬ 
vine Mysteries. 

This admirable sovereign protected authors, 
honored saints, encouraged valor and bravery, sus¬ 
tained the rights of the Holy See, and defended 
sovereign pontiffs against the anti-popes and tyrants; 
she threw bridges over rivers, opened roads in the 
mountains, erected hospitals, built towers to defend 
the passage of the Apennines and protect travel¬ 
lers; she constructed impregnable fortresses, em¬ 
bellished cities—in a word, she confirmed Italy in 
peace and glory.” 

You have done well,” said the prelate, ^‘to re¬ 
vive her memory in Italy and make it popular. She 
is the noblest heroine that ever rendered our coun¬ 
try illustrious.” 

The whole party now arose from the turf where 
we had been sitting. We went down by the fiowery 
little footpath, and separated at Aricia. Our ami¬ 
able companions pursued their way to Albano, 
while my two friends and myself, passing by the 
tomb of Horatii and the Curatii, crossed the great 
bridge to reach Galloro. 


THE END, - 


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